A much more normal day

TT went to work this morning. And we were due a rental inspection which meant I had to stay in until the inspector person turned up. It's the first time in my life that a rental inspection hasn't meant depserate last-minute tidying. I guess I must be growing up and finally growing out of living in pig-sty conditions.

Then it all changed. TT called and said she felt ill again. Poor girl, I guess she really must be sick to come home again after the whole week off.

The rental wench turned up and said everything was ok except for some water damage to the ceiling in the study. I apologised that I enjoyed water sports in that room but she didn't understand my saracasm. Some people have no sense of humour eh?

I then went out and my normal life suddenly resumed. I'd only walked about 100 yards when I saw a puppy dog nearly get run over by a car. The car didn't stop and the poor puppy sat cowering at the side of the road. I went over. It loved me straight away and I read the tag on his collar. He lived at #89 and we were about #300.

All the way down the street he tried to visit every bloody house. Until we got to 89 of course. At that point he decided to bolt across the road, nearly causing me a heart attack and nearly causing an innocent driver a crash. Well done puppy dog. Suppose it's my fault for not picking him up.

Anyway, I done that and carried him up the stairs to 89. There was no one home. I put him in the front garden and shut the gate behind me. He immediately escaped between the bars and ran up to me, rolled onto his back and waggled his legs pathetically in the air. I wish I hated dogs.

I couldn't leave him there so I went to the neighbours house with him in my arms. No one home. Went to the other neighbour. No one home. Went to the next neighbour on the other side. No one home. At this point I considered a new career in house burglary - there's obviously no bastard around to witness me and the only dog in the 'hood is currently curled up in my arms...

After knocking on about 10 doors I finally found someone at home. It was a non-english speaking mad lady. I'm such a lucky boy aren't I? She screamed at me lots and the gist of it was something along the lines of "That not my dog! My dog dead! You evil! You remind me! That dog from down street! Chinese people!" Handy eh?

I took the dog back to 89 and put him in the back yard. He immediately started hurting himslef by trying to escape from a small hole in the rusty gate. His ear caught on the rusty metal and started to bleed. I didn't have a clue what to do. The moment I tried to walk away he just cried and yelped. I called TT.

She told me if I as sure that was really his house (which I was) it was best to be "cruel to kind" She said the reason he hated it so much was because it was where he was lonely. She's so logical it puts me to shame sometimes.

I've got to go now. Got two other things to tell you about but they'll have to wait. Bye!