Tag Archives: ridiculous animal photograph

Dog Shaming: in which the terrible dog ruins the dinner.

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After being shut outside for humping the children, I managed, somehow, despite my obvious shortcomings, to get myself on top of the outdoor table.

There I found the chicken that was defrosting for dinner.
So I ate it.
All.
Including some of the plastic bag it was in.
The chicken still being frozen made it quite difficult.
But I persevered.

Once I was caught and chastised severely, I came inside and grew very quiet.
I sat still for a long time and thought about my behaviour.
Then I got up and walked swiftly to Mothers bedroom to vomit the frozen chicken I had just devoured under her bed.
Then I ate it.
All.
Again.

I now lay prone on the couch, unable to move.

I feel no remorse.

I am a bad dog.
Dag Shaming

Three Hundred & Sixty Five – Days at Home: Week 28 + Thrifted.

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You know how they say, always take off one accessory before you leave the house? My answer to that is to put on an Octopus necklace. / Iggy Pop in her book fortress. / Tiny dancing feet in warm socks – we’ve all had terrible colds. / A photograph Theo took. That’s me in the box. Texting. It was quite peaceful actually. / Nothing like a hideous pair of men’s socks when you are feeling poorly. / Thrifted: A handsome copy of The Great Gatsby – found at the local Sallies for free. / Thrifted: Side plate for the wall in the kitchen. I adore the boats! 50c from the Salvation Army. / Crisps are an essential part of the crafting process. / What vegans eat: Chick pea + 3 bean salad with tomatoes and spinach. Salt, pepper, drizzle of olive oil and parsley.

Ridiculous Animal Photograph: Buried Alive.

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R.A.T / Buried Alive

Theo: ‘We have buried Otto, Mama! He is our prisoner!’

Alice: ‘Your prisoner? Oh dear. And what was his crime?’

Theo: ‘He is a bad dog! He ate Mae-Mae’s lunch!’

Alice: ‘Off with his head!’

(A warning, dear readers, about the nature of children: they will seize upon, with great ferocity, all the things you say that are best not repeated, oh, I don’t know, at the Dairy, say. And when you are waiting, as patiently as possible, behind a heavily tattooed gentleman who is paying for his two mince and cheese pies and a coke with what appears to be solely 20c pieces, and your son takes it upon himself to roar ‘OFF WITH HIS HEAD!’, you will know, you only have yourself to blame.)