Right. I wrote a whole bloody entry and it vanished. Take two. I hope that I can remember what I said. It's like having to repeat yourself to an old person who is hard of hearing, you can't help being a little bit more arsey the second that you say it.
I am now a dog owner. We won't go into the whole story that prompted this decision, suffice to say it has happened quickly. I needed a breed that is healthy, intelligent, friendly, which produces a small, firm stool and that can be kept of the top of the console in a John Deere 6830 (the dog, I mean, not the stool)
I chose a Norwich terrier, he is ten weeks old. I am on paternity leave today. I have to stop typing every few minutes to retrieve an oven glove or a shoe.
We always kept dogs throughout my childhood (my grandfather was a labrador breeder, actually) but no one in the family has owned a dog for years. I can't remember the last time that I stood in a dog turd.
When you get out of the habit of owning a dog the decision to start again is not a light one. I have become used to a pretty high standard of cleanliness and order in my domestic affairs. I was in danger of becoming mildly OCD, you will have noted that from the regular entries about my laundry.
Keep your eyes peeled for changes to my personality. Obviously I won't be putting up any more dogs in wigs. In the same way that people stop laughing at paedophile jokes when they become parents, it just doesn't feel right anymore.
Similarly I am hoping to avoid mentioning the "hilarious episodes" of the house training process. (If you want toilet humour David Mitchell's column in today's Guardian is pretty good). We all know that animal ownership can make a person cloyingly sentimental, I hope to avoid this consequence. I have trained an ex-sniper to follow me around and if I am talking about clearing up dog litter too much or if I refer to myself as "Daddy" then I have instructed him to take a head shot.
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