I know what you're thinking... 'Where the hell have you been?'
If truth be told, I've been in somewhat of a rut for the past couple of weeks - both in my personal life and with blogging. Inspiration has been about as forthcoming as a lottery win and, in all honesty, I've been enjoying spending quality time with my 'family' i.e. Scott, Daisy and the pigs, without worrying about my next post or if I've scheduled enough tweets for the week. It's been liberating.
So, in the spirit of 'family' time, Scott and I decided to take Daisy to a doggy pool party last weekend, which was pretty up there in the list of stupid things we'd decided to do in 2016. Imagine throwing a bag of shit into a fan... in a crowded room... when everyone's wearing white, and you're pretty much on the money.
There's three things you should know about Daisy, she hates her own kind, she has a strong dislike of water and she's not the biggest fan of anything that doesn't involve being warm and comfortable - she's basically me in dog form. So when we saw an opportunity to combine all three, some anarchist part of our brains thought, 'Hey, what a bloody brilliant idea!' and thus the shit storm pool party came to be.
As soon as we arrived, Daisy hit the deck and peed on the grass, which in hindsight, should have been our first warning. That squirt of wee was her way of telling us that if we dared to take her into the play area with all those other dogs, she'd make us pay. Neither of us bothered to take heed, though, and instead I continued to convince myself that having her socialise with other dogs was a good thing, something to be encouraged and if we could tackle her dislike of water too, we'd be killing two birds with one stone.
Two steps into the dog pen, Daisy was greeted by an enormous, white, yeti of a dog that was carrying enough water in its fur to provide a small village with cold baths for a week. High on dog treats and life, his excitable greeting quickly turned into dry humping the air whilst Daisy cowered beneath and shot me a scale 10 death stare. Before she could even whisper her disgust at our parenting, a crowd of slobbering dogs had gathered around us, shaking themselves dry at our feet and diving nose-deep into Daisy's arse for a sniff. Dripping with second hand pool water and sand, we scooped her up and tried to act nonchalant, despite the fact that we'd just arrived and were the only ones covered from head to toe in water and dirt. Excellent.
Then came her time to swim - and by swim I mean flail her limbs around like a chimpanzee on speed, doing the macarena... in water. Even the poor guy helping her was struggling to breath under the torrent of water that was being flung his way.
A) because in all honesty, it was really bloody funny to watch, and
B) the sheer ridiculousness of the situation we were in was finally beginning to sink in.
After less than a minute of what was essentially drowning, we called time on Daisy's swimming lesson and plucked her from the water, and she was not happy.
That right there is the face of a dog who is plotting to shit in your knicker drawer when you least expect it.
So, whilst the other dogs frolicked in the grass and played fetch, Daisy spent the rest of the party wrapped in a towel, trembling. She had that look in her eye as much to say, if you put me down, I will pee on your shoes in protest. So we cut our losses and left, a mere 30 minutes after we'd arrived, dirty, wet and with an extremely miserable Shih Tzu in tow.