It’s a good job the idiot who lives next door to me loves his firework parties.
The one he held last weekend featured some of the loudest explosions known to man. If it wasn’t for him, I would have to resort to other means to make sure my little dog was frightened out of her wits for three hours every November 5th.
Next year I will try to persuade him not to have a repeat performance. To accomplish this, I plan to use the carrot-and-stick approach: I’ll take a huge carrot and stick it up his f*cking arse.
Actually, I was a little more prepared for Bonfire Night this year. There was a programme on the television a few days ago in which a helpful veterinarian described various methods one can employ to help your dog endure the inevitable terrifying noises.
One of these methods involved putting a children’s t-shirt on your pet, or in fact buying a tight jacket made especially for dogs and cats. Apparently, this instills a feeling of calmness and security in your pet by making the animal more aware of its own body and helps it to ignore the devastating explosions coming from outside.
The only thing small enough that I could find was an old pair of boxer shorts that my ex-wife had bought for me one Christmas. As I struggled to put these on Audrey, she looked at me with her big brown eyes, a little embarrassed, as if to say, ‘This isn’t very rock ‘n’ roll, is it?’
They were not all that tight in the end; I had to improvise further by using one of my favourite paisley-patterned silk scarves to help wrap them snugly around her furry little body. It seemed to do the trick, however. She didn’t seem to be as panic-stricken as usual when all hell broke loose next door around six in the evening.
I looked at her under the sofa dressed in her skin-tight little Calvin Klein boxer shorts and thought: If anyone comes in and sees this, it’s going to look a little weird.
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