I hate the small yappy dog next door.

 

I hate the small yappy dog next door.

Except it isn’t next door. It’s in my garden.

I bang on the bathroom window.

The small yappy dog looks up at me. It can see I’m furious. It can see the steam coming out of my ears. It’s been barking incessantly at the birds in the tree, and driving me mad, but now it knows it’s being watched.

So what does it do?

Does it beat a hasty retreat?

Does it panic and jump back over the wall.

Heck no.

Instead it simply cocks its leg and wees all over my most prized Aquileia, the pale cream one, before trotting off calmly back home.

I hate that dog.

A little later I have to buy fish food. The fish are starving.

While I was away the house sitters who were responsible for feeding the fish left the fish food containeron the bench. Of course within the hour the ‘orrible small yappy dog had mangled the box, worrying it until its contents spilt and then ate the lot.

Oh, how I hate that small yappy dog.

I hope it grows fins!