Late last summer...
I was in the park with my dog, watching him happily running around investigating stuff that only he could smell, thinking how serendipitous it was that he came into my life when he did; Jess got to spend some time with him (and absolutely adored him), then after she died he kept me going on days when I otherwise would have stayed in bed and drunk myself to death.
I was thinking about how amazed I would have been if I'd known what the future held, and how from never having owned a dog before to being left on my own with one could have been such a major trauma, but was fine because I really couldn't have wished for a better dog - he's house trained, doesn't mind being left on his own when I go to work, is always pleased to see me when I get home, and really makes me laugh on almost a daily basis. He's a proper dog, with a real personality, and I love him to bits.

Then he rolled in a dead hedgehog
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Wed 6 Feb 2013, 10:21, 1 reply)

Excellent bathos here.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 6 Feb 2013, 10:27, closed)