Not nesting...

still no dog...
sake

"You're getting on like a pregnant woman, look at the state you". The Cousin was quaffing tea on the sofa whilst I was fidgeting about and tidying up the detritus of the day, cups, paper, sweetie wrappers and that sort of thing.

"What are you on about?", I asked as I plonked my generous frame down on the couch.

"You're nesting!", exclaimed The Cousin in a fit of eurekaish excitement. It was as if he had been struggling to find the right word.

"Excuse me?"

"You're so nesting."

"Nesting? What are you on about you curious little man?"

"The tidying up and fussing about and that", he explained as he waved his chubby hands at my perfectly mopped floor and sparkly polished shelving.

Fat handed twat.

"Give over yerself man. I just like a tidy house. Nesting? My arse."

"No, you're definitely nesting. You'll be a great dog-mother some day." He was fighting hard to keep the laughter suppressed. Not fighting hard enough.

"Knock it off or I'm gonna kick your ass." Manuel is not really a kicker of asses but he can talk the talk.

"Nesting", persisted The Cousin.

"Seriously, quit it."

"Nesting", again he poked at me.

"You're cruising dough boy"

It went quiet for a moment as The Cousin rained in his verbal assault. I tried to hide my beaming red, but devilishly handsome, face behind my book. It didn't really help my situation that I was reading about Jack bloody Russell's.

Sake.

The considerable din emanating from the television wasn't masking The Cousin's snickering and poorly stifled guffawing and that was despite him having shoved his fat fist into his gob.

"What? What now?", I barked across the room. Oh ha ha ha, Manuel thinks he's a dog. Grow up, it's a turn of phrase.

HEE HEE HEE HA HA HA went The Cousin.

"I am so gonna batter you, you have no idea mister."

"I saw you in the supermarket yesterday....", he said through streaming tears of laughter.

"And? We were there together you clown"

HEE HEE HEE HA HA HA went The Cousin. Again.

"I saw you go all gooey as we walked through the pet food section." He was now struggling to make himself coherent such was the level of laughter. I may strangle him in his sleep tonight. We shall just see who's laughing then.

"I didn't go gooey in the pet food section. You're gooey". Ooh good comeback.

"Yeah, yeah you did. You went all misty eyed at the tins of Pedigree Chum. And....HEE HEE HEE HA HA HA...."

"And? And what?", I wanted to know what else he had seen imagined.

"And HEE HEE HEE..."

"I swear to god wee man, you are gonna get battered so hard..."

"And HEE HEE HEE...and you ran your fingers longingly over the top of the bags of Winalot in a very dreamy bounding-through-the-fields-with-my-lovely-dog sort of a way." He then proceeded to fall apart the place laughing. He was laughing so hard that he probably didn't hear my threat/promise to evict him by the end of the week.

It was just what I didn't need at the end of another fruitless day searching for a pooch. It had all started so promisingly too. Percy, the brother-in-law, and I arrived at the USPCA home for abandoned and unloved dogs and cats before they opened and before anyone else seeking puppy love had arrived. But by the time the gates finally opened and we were let in there was a right crowd of doggy wanters. To hell with chivalry and all that tosh, I bounded for the gates knocking people to the ground and gouging eyes as I ran.

Whilst Percy went on a one man meet and greet with all the dogs I stayed on-mission and sought out what I was looking for, that being a small, preferably shaggy, youngish dog with the ability to melt hearts at a thousand paces. And luckily I found him, a Jack Russell with little brown stone melting eyes. I found him at much the same time as a rather deathly looking woman in ill fitting tracksuit bottoms and grey tatty cardigan found him.

Our eyes met in opposition and I knew the game was on. Well it would have been if Percy hadn't been doing a Dr Dolittle with each and every pooch in the place. Terrible terrible wingman as far as wingmen go. She instructed her 75 year old looking toy boy to make haste to the office where the guardians of the kennels keep the keys and the deeds, or whatever they have, to the dogs. I, meanwhile was trying to catch the attention of Percy Dolittle who busy having a heart to heart with a sombre looking black labrador. I'm not sure if the black lab had been so melancholic before Percy introduced himself. But I needed him to go get the lady with the keys to come and give me my dog/dream whilst I guarded the kennel.

But it was all so utterly pointless. They lady came with the keys and handed my pooch to the woman in the ill fitting tracksuit bottoms and tatty grey cardigan and off they went to spend their days in front of the fire sucking on boiled sweets and watching Diagnosis Murder. It's little life could have been oh so different if Percy had just stayed on mission. I had to hide for a moment ot dry my weeping eyes.

I wonder if my sister is really so attached to Percy because he may get strangled in his bed after I'm done with The Cousin.

Old people and relatives, I'm against them....