OK. Here's the picture. I am slowly recovering from the flu. I'm really tired and could care less about being exciting, fun Mum and the kids are a bit restless. I haven't walked the dog for days and he is just a pent-up ball of misplaced energy.
Just ripe for things to go monumentally wrong eh!!!
Let's back track to yesteday morning when I fed the dog. His food comes in 1.5kg tubes and he normally gets about 1/5 each day. I fed him as normal, and headed back up stairs to get breakfast for everybody else.
(Yep - you already know don't you!! I left the rest of the food out where the dog could get to it, and what dog in his right mind is going to say no to more food? Not mine, that's for sure.)
The kids and I tried hard to settle down into some puzzles and drawing competitions, but things went downhill pretty quick and we were all a little bit tearful by lunchtime.
"I'm just going to feed the dog, and then we'll switch on the A/C and have some stories and a big nap," I tell the children cheerfully, feeling optimistic that the day may still turn out to be a good one.
As I walk down the stairs, a sense of impending doom strikes me, and I wonder why.
The scene out my back door was one of absolute nightmare material. The dog had not only dug about three giant holes, but thanks to his sneaky-feast, had vomited and poohed all over the place.
There was nothing else for me to do, but sit down and have a really good cry.
So I did.
And then I planned the dogs' demise in delicious detail.
He will look lovely with a big Christmas bow around his neck, stuffed and placed under the tree!