I’m afraid, because I spent the whole day sitting out in the sun capitalising on the rarest of mythical beasts ‘The British Summer‘, I didn’t get a chance to write anything exciting.

Instead, you get a photo story about two annoying terriers that somehow found their way into our garden. Probably chasing rabbits, or each other, or just being plain annoying — I think that’s in the ‘Being A Little Dog Job Description’ somewhere. You can just picture the cover-letter of the mongrel mutt’s resume:

About Me

Hi. My name’s Wheezer, but you can call me That Ugly Little Gash-face White Terrier. When I’m not dry-humping your leg, you can find me terrorising the local neighbourhood, picking on cats that are larger than me and abusing innocent rabbits. I have a major inferiority complex. In fact, I’m like one of those small kids at school that have no friends and burn things with a magnifying glass.

My Skill Set

  • Yap. A lot. Yap yap yap. Grrr. Yap.
  • Annoying. I can even irritate a Samaritan into aiming a kick at me.
  • Easily-excitable. Sometimes I pee when I get excited.
  • Endless energy channelled into my feeble barking abilities. What I don’t have in balls, strength or intelligence I make up for with yapping, and running around like a spastic.

Why does anyone even want a small dog? Why not get a cat? Why not get a proper dog? You know where you are with a big dog. A terrier’s not going to find you in a snowdrift and haul you to safety. A terrier doesn’t do a whole lot actually. Just get in the way. At least you can kick small dogs without feeling too bad about it; a big dog will just bite your foot off. Perhaps people get small dogs because they can’t handle having a big dog, the same way mean, aggressive, wife-beating men marry docile women that they can control. Hmm

Anyway… (sorry, it’s late as I write this. I was probably abused by a small dog as a child. Remind me to ask mum.)

Here’s the photo story of how I chased the two little noisy shits out of one of our fields.

At first they were unsure of what to make of the hairy beast that had come out to greet them.

‘So what do we have here… He’s bigger than us… but…’

Failing to work out why I had invaded their field, and confused as to why I was still here, they resorted to their one sure-fire defence: yapping. Yap! YAP! YIP! Grrr! YAP!!!

Time to show them who the big dog is around these parts. The picture fails to capture my deep and manly rumbling bark. Grrrrrwoof!

Seb: 1, Little Shits: 0

The birth of fine art, Florence, Italy
Phil's parting prophylactic present

Sebastian

I am a tall, hairy, British writer who blogs about technology, photography, travel, and whatever else catches my eye.

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