Weekend Timing

I really wish that Hound would get the idea about weekends. I know, I know, she’s a dog, and dogs aren’t supposed to understand these concepts. But for a time-oriented and very insistent/herding animal, weekends are a real pain in the arse.

It’s my fault (of course). During the week I get up at 6.30, do all the morning things, let the chickens out, and go to work.

On a weekend, well, I went a lie-in. But Hound doesn’t care.

So by 7am she’s scratching on the door, effectively saying “You’re late! It’s time to get up and get back in the routine!”

If you tell her to sod off (or words to that effect) she’ll go and lie down for ten minutes. And it’s exactly ten minutes – you could set your clock by it.

7.10. Scratch scratch. “Sod off”

7.20 Scratch scratch. “Sod off”

7.30. Scratch scratch scratch. “Sod Off“. Scratch “You’re really really late now. And The Girls still need letting out”

7.40. Scratch scratch. “Sod Off”

7.50 Scratch scratch scratch. “Sod it“.

By now Hound’s up a height, stressed that all her routine is just ruined. “Daddy’s late, The Girls aren’t out yet, I haven’t had my pills yet, it’s just all going horribly wrong.”

Poxy fucking animals.