I Miss You Emo Dog

I don't have any pets. Too high maintenance for my liking. Too much responsibility. Too much crap to deal with. Literally. Suffice to say, I'm not a fan. Don't get me wrong ... love animals from afar, just not within a two mile radius.

I don't have any pets. Too high maintenance for my liking. Too much responsibility. Too much crap to deal with. Literally. Suffice to say, I'm not a fan. Don't get me wrong ... love animals from afar, just not within a two mile radius.

I'm not a dog hater. I grew up with greyhounds (I wasn't actually raised by greyhounds, although that would explain a lot,) I just find the older I get, the less patient I get. With animals. Kids. Life in general.

So when a new neighbour moved in at the weekend, bringing a dog with her, I was a little intrigued. We'd had a greyhound live next door to us before but I think it was a little depressed. It just moped around all day looking miserable. It used to listen to Morrissey, paint its toenails black and complain that no-one understood him. We called it 'Emo Dog.'

This new dog is the antithesis of Emo Dog. It's a yappy little fecker. You can't go outside without it going skizoid and barking it's bristly canine head off like, like, like ... like a bristle headed yappy mo fo.

I dream about popping a Prozac inside a gone-off sausage and chucking it over the wall, just to chill him out a bit. But *cough* I won't ... *cough* ... honest. Instead, I've become .... da da daaaaaaa .... Ninja Mum! I now creep outside to put my washing on the line, tiptoeing across the creaky decking, hoping against hope that the little sod doesn't hear me and start yap, yap, yapping again. When I water the plants, I have to put the hosepipe on the finest trickle so that the sound of water hitting against flower doesn't wake him up. It now takes four hours to water my garden.

But you know what? I've had enough. It's time to take back my territory. No longer will I be prisoner! No longer will I be held hostage by a one foot high Jack Russell. Or Terrier. Or whatever the damned thing is. This is my garden goddamit! I say it's time to show him who's boss! Watching all those episodes of 'Dog Borstal' have to count for something!

But drugging the little bugger is wrong though, right? Anyone got any other suggestions? And while I'm on an anti-pet rant, if anyone can suggest ways to stop the other neighbour's cat crapping in my garden, I will give you £1million.*

I never thought I'd say it, but I miss you Emo Dog.

* If I had £1million.

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