The Bitch

I realise that I'm not on my own after all. And it's taken a broken, better still, bitten fingernail to suss me out. Since I'm on my own I have to take care of my huge bears (dogs) which are usually part of the Mister's chores. So I thought I'd give my dogs a treat which they love. They loved it. They loved it so much that Fluke (the male malamute) bit a part of my fingernail off with it. Shit shit shit. My claws. Thankfully I found the bitten part, and have super glued it on. It looks real. Sad, nobody messes with my claws. It's so sad it's turned funny, like some tragic-comedy. Not even Benny Hill would have thought of this one. Had I a camera turned on, I think I would have looked pretty foolish on my hand and knees, doggy-style, just to fit in with the subject, looking for the bitten part of my fingernail as if my life depended on it. And it actually does, my life does depend a lot on my claws, which is again so sad that it's turning hilarious. So now I will have to make do with the super glue till at least Tuesday. I know it looks real but it isn't. Just like fake designer handbags. I don't care if I can get them at 20 Euro, I want the real thing. Fake is sad. It's like flashing a sign saying hey I'm so sad I'm fake, or I'm so fake that I'm sad. It works both ways. These dogs of mine. Nobody, no vet can come up with an explanation why they grew so big. Now they're a large breed, but this is enormous. A 100 kg dog. Seriously, try him. And a 92kg something bitch. Seriously, try her, she's a bitch and proud of it. I can only handle one at a time, and it's taxing even for big old me. The trouble starts when they decide to ambush me, although playfully, together. Then I have to run for my life. They're not fierce although they have the fierce don't-mess-with-me look, they're as tame as big teddies, but they weight a whole lot. They play rough too and I've been hurt by banging my head against something which they think is very funny. On the one occasion when a swell idea occurred to me; that is taking them both out for a walk, they made me run a marathon. In two minutes I was down the road into the next village. And they're strong. Sometimes the child in me likes to play horsey (no dirty ideas please), and they can actually carry me all around the floor I've built just for them. I know they were actually made to carry weights in Alaska, but me? And why did they grow so big, I remember cuddling them when they were the size of newborn human babies. Now I can't believe they were small. Perhaps my house is a dangerous house. It's a house where anybody stepping in suddenly starts to grow grow grow. At least the dogs have, and I have too. But then, just to screw my theory up, there's the cats. And they're slender slinky sexy cats. Perhaps my theory doesn't apply to felines then, just to bitches. Then that makes me... Me the bitch? If that is the case, I deserve to be crowned Queen... of bitches. There's quite a lot going on in the aura of sweet old me. Seriously, try me.