I’m sat at the computer watching the dog. It waddles behind me and hides a biscuit under the curtains. The dog looks at me with indifference. I look back with pity. Who hides treats knowing they are being watched, I think.
I’m angry with the dog because my wife has started calling it by the same pet name she uses for me. I’m not sure if I’ve been demoted or the dog has.
I deide to play a game. I go to the curtains and remove the treat.
I’m now sat at the computer pretending to type, waiting for the dog to return and retrieve the ‘missing’ treat.
The dog is taking its sweet time following my imaginary plan, so I daydream about making money from my amazing skill of creating mild inconvenience to dogs. I’d create my own agency and call it, Dog Stalkers. People would ring me for assistance…
“So, it’s hiding treats under your favourite cushion?” I’d confirm, and give out sympathetic noises. “I’ll be round straight away,” and then, shouting into the background, I’d say, “Fire up the helicopter Sebastian! We’ve got a cushion hider.”
Eventually, the dog strolls in. By strolling in, I mean I find it and direct it into the room.
It looks at me and I motion with my eyes towards the curtains. It doesn’t react. I would react, I think, if I was a dog. Stupid dog, I think.
The phone rings.
“Hello Munchkin,” says my wife.
“Hang on, I’ll just get the dog,” I say.
“Haha very funny,” she says sarcastically.
“Seriously. Can me and the dog have different pet names, please,” I ask. “It’s confusing.”
“Ok, I’ll do it,” she says, “but only if you’re a good boy.”