Who would have thought?

…that such a small dog could hold such vast quantities of vomit?

Imagine my surprise shortly after breakfast this morning when I came across not one, not two, not three, but seven separate and large pools of dog sick, all in discreet spots around the ground floor. I should have realised that no puddles was a bad sign…
It turns out that Zach Attack! has been eating the small and very very sour apples that grow on our apple tree, and that they don’t really agree with him. He’s a very sweet, but very stupid dog.

It is hard not to feel sorry for Zach when you see his sad little face, with his big brown eyes and droopy ears. Even if the stupid bastard did bring it entirely on himself.

…that Darth Lila could be trusted around my breakfast?

Well, I did. I know, I know. I’m stupid too. I was just munching my toast and Zach threw up again by my foot. It didn’t stop him begging for my toast crust, of course, but it did put me off eating.

Rather than try to clean and eat at the same time, I put my slice of toast on the highest bookshelf in the conservatory. I could see Lila out of the corner of my eye just watching it. That wasn’t a surprise – she likes toast just as much as I do

What was a surprise was when she leapt up on the armchair, stood on the back of the seat and gracefully swiped my slice of toast from its resting place atop my battered copy of Birdsong. Zach merely watched in awe, and then threw up again.

…that a poorly dog would still find time to eat printer paper (in the whole thirty seconds that my back was turned)?

‘Nuff said. Git.

…that the Boy would make it to his 8th birthday in one piece?

I had my doubts, I have to admit. But so far the worst we’ve had is a couple of black eyes, some scabby knees and a handful of detentions for fighting. Happy Birthday to the ratbag!

He’s buggered off to Cornwall for two glorious weeks to visit his new stepmother’s parents. Or it could be her grandparents. I wasn’t actually listening when he told me, because we were in the middle of a thrilling Mario Kart race, where I had joined in after the Boy had completed two laps (he insists on a head start but surely two laps head start is taking the piss even for the second worst player in the world – my mother is the worst ever) and I was still winning. The shame.

…that the United in Fear Scaredy Cat Society meetings would take place in my conservatory? And that two of the three members were in fact dogs?

None of my pets like the hoover. True, none of them take it to the extreme of my parents rottweiler, who barks and bears his teeth at it, but it would be fair to say that all eight live in fear of the Coming of the Hoover.

I needed to hoover the stairs this weekend. I hate doing it, but Charlie and Ozzie had had a huge fight, and the stairs were coated in clumps of orange and white hair. They seem to get some enjoyment from chasing each other, then pinning each other down and headbutting each other. Whatever floats their boat…

The hoover lives upstairs in the back bedroom. Holly and Charlie hid as soon as they saw me pick it up. Charlie, bless his orange cotton socks, got all worked up and ran around trying frantically to hide. Holly dove under the bed.

Ozzie and Willow favour getting on the bed, and then fighting over who can lie where.
Frankie prefers the top of the kitchen counters, which is another story altogether, seeing as the stupid cat still has trouble getting back down.

And Ellie likes the conservatory.

If I had actually got round to hoovering the stairs, all would have been well. The cats would have sulked, the dogs would have cowered and my stairs would have looked a damn sight better.
But the computer was being temperamental. So the Baron had pulled the whole thing out and was busy trying to fix it. He decided he wanted to hoover the several dogs worth of fur out from behind the desk in the hopes that it would magically cure the problem.

So the hoover was in the living room. Ellie was sat on the sofa out in the conservatory trying to look cool and unconcerned (and failing miserably, I might add). The dogs took one look and shot out to join Ellie on the sofa.

All three of them looked petrified, and were trying to hide behind each other. Ellie had jumped on to the back of the sofa, and Zach was precariously balanced next to her, occasionally sniffing her face. Lila was sat in front of them, also trying to look brave (and failing. Her shaking was a bit of a giveaway).

The meeting commenced.

Lila put her huge head down next to Ellie’s little one, so that their noses were touching. Ellie responded with a silent hiss, which Lila ignored. Zach put his head down next to Lila. All three were touching.

Lila then licked Ellie all across her face. Ellie’s expression was priceless, and to be honest, she wasn’t all that impressed with the sheer amount of drool coating her fur. But she still didn’t pull away. Instead, she started to lick Lila’s nose.

Of course, by this time, Zach wanted to join in, and he started to lick Ellie too. Lila wasn’t having that, and bopped him across the head with her paw. He tried to bop her back, but missed and smacked Ellie instead. She glared at him, and bopped him between the eyes.

Meeting adjourned.

…that I am supposed to be writing a report right now?

Ummmmm.