I was telling you a few weeks ago that I got a new dog. Dermot.
Well, you’ll be glad to know that Dermot is fine. He’s still growing and now he’s a bit bigger than he was when I got him. He’s great, and he’s really cute, and all the girls love him and when I take him out walking I keep being stopped by women who all go “aaaaaaaahhhhh!!!” And then they look at me and go “you fuck off”
He’s a cute little fucker though, a big ball of fluff and he’s settling in well with Satan’s Terrier. Too well. Originally, I had the notion that it would be a good thing to get Satan’s terrier a companion because every time I stood up, or even made the least move to stand up, I was instantly observed and followed by the dog, and shadowed. I thought it would be a good thing. The dog wouldn’t be so fixated on me, and I’d be able to wander around the house unmolested, or at least unfollowed. Do you know what happened instead? That’s right: every time I stand up I’m now followed by two dogs. In my new life, two dogs, not one, sit and stare at me as I eat my dinner. Two dogs follow me to the toilet and wait outside for me. Two dogs chew the kitchen chairs. Two dogs nose through the ironing basket and tear out a sock each to chew when I’m not looking. Two dogs rip pieces of cardboard all over the floor. Two dogs demand food at all times.
However. I’m glad to report. Very glad . . .
. . . that only one dog shits all over the house. That only one dog leaves lawn-sausages on the fucking stairs for me to get between my toes as I stumble half-eyed downstairs at some uncouth hour of the morning when all decent Christians are still rightly abed.
Small though Dermot is, and cuddly, and nice and everything like that, he seems to possess the world’s most prodigious digestive system. Jimmy Rabbitte put it well enough, though I probably don’t quote him exactly:
Jaysus, you’d never think you’d get so much shit out of one small dog!