Puffin 'eck!

I am a fool. Special Boy was given a puppy by his wife for Christmas. She is the great granddaughter of his much loved childhood Spaniel who went to the great kennel in the sky two summers ago. There was a lot of dithering about whether he should be given the puppy this year. Dithering with good reason.

Special Boy and his wife live in a tiny flat in London. It's known as The Mouse House and with good reason as it is small enough for mice to sniff at it in a sneering way and refuse to live there. If you want to sleep on their sofabed you have to open the oven door in the kitchen to fit your feet into the room as well as the rest of your body.

Anyway, my parents, who already have five dogs, had agreed to look after said puppy, thinking one more dog would make little difference, and the decision was made. Christmas day came and the puppy bounced out of a box with a ribbon round her neck and gave Special Boy the fright of his life. She was christened Puffin and subsequently she has been spoilt rotten by everybody who comes near her, as is only natural with a small, fluffy puppy.

Now, special boy and his wife have returned to London and my aged parents have sodded off to stay with friends having persuaded me that with my first free weekend in months I would surely love to do nothing more than puppy sit. Fool, fool, fool. I said fine.

She has been with me since about 4pm yesterday and in that time she has peed in the office 5 times (despite going out every half hour). She has pierced the Loyal Hound's ear with her needle sharp teeth (truly, she has), and stolen and shredded his favourite toy - The Phuck (so called because it looks like a pheasant but squawks like a duck).

She barks if you shut her in a different room, even if she can see you, and thinks that furniture is her plaything to be chewed, leapt upon and generally mauled so she has to be watched like a hawk. Once she was put to bed in the laundry room she barked until 1.30 am and then started again at 6.30am. When I finally staggered out of bed to let her out it turned out that she had poohed everywhere and then gaily jumped about in said pooh, spreading it all over the room before hurling herself at the door with poohey paws and decorating the door in crap. Quite literally. She is totally unrepentant and joyfully threw herself at my leg when I let her out, covering me in aforesaid crap as well.

I am now exhausted, have cricked my bag from bending over to clear up endless mess, scarcely slept due to puppy barking (and had odd dreams about giving David Tennant a puppy when i did sleep) and I have another 24 hours to go. So much for my luxurious weekend. In addition the Loyal Hound is in a terrible grump about having his toys stolen, his ear pierced, and his peace cut up by the Puffin terrorist.

p.s. I know, I know, all you mother's out there will be chortling to yourselves at the easiness of my task compared to small children but there are supposed to be upsides to being single and childless and this weekend was going to be one of them.