Vindictive, me?

"Revenge is a dish best served cold."
Colloquial phrase of indeterminate origin.

They say that William Shakespeare knew a bit about revenge, apparently. I wouldn't know about that. They also say that revenge is as old as time. I wouldn't know about that either. They say the Klingons are driven by revenge, too. What would I know about that? They say that it is a response to a grievance. This is I can understand.

Do they have tribunals for dogs? Because I think I've got a case.

First of all they starve me. Then they let some smiling assassin at me. Then they wake me up and I feel like rubbish (I did have a very nice afternoon cuddling with a veterinary nurse though.) Then, they make me go outside on a lead. And then, humiliation of humiliation, they put this big pink thing on my head. Let's leave aside for a minute the sex-stereotyping of its very pinkness and concentrate on the real bone of contention. It's big! It's plastic! It is completely impractical in every way!

This morning I feel more myself. Well I would... if I could reach the water bowl properly. If I could chew my bone! If I could run around with a tennis ball... If I could go for a walk...

So, mark my words aprecious - I am plotting. I am thinking of a suitable payback. Just when you least expect it. Don't sleep easy in your bed, lady. I'm watching you...

And she is. With those big doleful eyes as if, at the very least, I have massacred babies, which in a way - I have. Mea Culpa little puppy dog. Mea Culpa. On another note - three days without a walk? Three days?