Martyrs Unite

So I gave up.

I went home for dog cuddles and soup and homemade rice pudding and my moms.

Martyrdom really doesn't suit me. It looks better on people that have a soul. Or an ounce of dignity in their body.

I left The Ford at 21:48 on Wednesday evening. It was the exact point in time where I was starting to feel better enough that I could actually appreciate someone looking after me but still ill enough that I wouldn't have to fake being ill to garner appropriate amounts of sympathy.

Which was nice.

Now I know, for one, I hate those stories and bon mots that start 'My dog does the funniest thing...'

But.

The red dog has really enjoyed my 'visit'. Pretty much every one of my used tissues has been taken out of the various bins we have around the house and torn up a little. Why? What does it mean? What does it achieve? Why does red dog do this?

Because she's nuts. If she were human she'd be Glenn Close's character in Fatal Attraction. She is needy and weird and obsessive.

The fact that it only happens when I leave her alone in a room for more than three minutes twenty seconds makes me think it's either a punishment of some kind or a present. Especially as upon my return she's always sat back in the last place I left her (behind the sofa, on top of the sofa, on her back with her head on a cushion). To be honest, red dog is starting to creep me out.