Fat bloke, fat dog

D-words

D-the-Dog has a vocabulary all his own:

D-struction and D-vestation: playing harmlessly out in the garden.

Hou – D – nism: playing harmlessly in the neighbour's garden, which, despite being somewhat identical, albeit much tidier and far less D-vestated, to the one he is allowed to be in, remains irresistibly tempting.

D-forestation: a sort of canine agent orange effect. Try planting something in the garden.

D-votion: he has this, if he can be arsed to get up and show it. Otherwise, he has this, although there may be no physical manifestation.

D-licious: the flavour of food. As long as it isn't dogfood.

D-fender of his D-omain: as long as D-fending amounts to copious amounts of noisy barking and agitation. If there's any loud noises that are a bit scary? Not so much.

Down syndrome

I don't know why I was reminded of this, but somewhere I worked there was the Down Syndrome joke, as in:

“She's got Down Syndrome?”

“Has she?”

“Yeah. Watership Down.” pause “too much rabbit.”

The tale of the tape measure

White dog is sleek, slim, and obviously in great shape. She measures the same as D-the-Dog, who is nicknamed Tubs and Lardo and looks like he'd measure about twice as much around as White.

The tale of the scale

BLISS married half the bloke she's ended up with. Well, about half as much again. I was about fourteen, which sounds a lot but was my fittest, fighting weight, and was apportioned about four stones from the waist up and about ten from the waist down, about five of those arse. I've lost some recently and am in the low nineteens rather than creeping about just under the twenty. Which, I know, is ridiculously heavy. My knees keep reminding me of just how ridiculous it is.