Fantastic Four

This weekend, the house is in a state of permanent chaos as the canine contingent temporarily doubles while we dog-sit the neighbour's mountain rescue dogs. Flynn and latest kid on the block, pupstar Jib, or Jibbles as Tess and I call her, are here to endure the company of Crabbit Beth and "But I'M the bestest Dog!" Max. It's the equivalent of all the sweets coming out when you were wee and had sleepovers at your aunties when the e-numbers made you go popeye crazy playing lego 'till 2am while singing the entire top 40 chart without knowing all the words (nothing changes).

Back in the here and now and so far, there's more mud in the house than out, Beth has managed to regurgitate a spectacular, Vesuvius size smorgasbord of boak inducing wild animal poo and carcass goo from the forest floor - all over the dog beds and rug, Dave has had a paddy about delaying his computer time to help Sam put up the new red squirrel feeder and my kitchen floor is a swimming pool thanks to the mega water bowl tag team slurping that's going on.

And then there's the dog politics, they're constantly trying to sort out the eternal question...no, not the "Who's the best dog?" one, it's the other one, "Which of us is Alpha?". It might actually be the cat....who come to think of it hasn't been seen since the hairy contingent expanded in number this morning.

I may resort to putting on the fire tonight to induce mass sleepy time. I hope the fireworks round about aren't bad.