Dog

We're dog sitting. If you insert an "h" into the last word of that last sentence then you get an idea of what the house smells of. I don't like dogs much. Nothing personal to the canine species, just that I've never got on with them. Since I was ten and a poodle bit me and everyone found it funny, I guess unconsciously I've always thought that dogs as a group were out to humiliate me. Anyway, Mags agreed that we would dog-sit for Johann whilst he is away. apparently it's a family emergency and when he came round to ask he was fanning himself with a flapping hand and rolling his eyes and in quite a panic. I must admit, I was loving it. Okay, so I'm mean, but I really can't stand the guy. Probably the fact that he once used my new Gilette sensor XL for men razor to shave his legs when he was out with Mags and co on a girlie night out. I mean, those blades don't stay sharp for long (don't get me started!) and they arn't cheap (but I do like them). So, this dog, although I think pooch is a more appropriate term for the spoilt little fluff bag. I may not like dogs but I respect them. The fact that they fought and survived through a tough evolving world, deserves respect. Johann's dog on the other hand is an evolutionary exception.It's name is Pixie. I say "it's" because I'm not sure if it is a boy or a girl or some strange mixture. So far it does two things: Whine and defacate. Very similar to Johann in fact. If I catch it in the bathroom using my razor then it's out the door!