My week with Ollie

It was been one week since my family left me for an exotic holiday to Norfolk. Not content with excluding me from the family holiday, they also left me to look after the dog.

This is Ollie.

Anyone that knows me is more than aware of the fact that me and Ollie are not pals. I only like him to take photos of. So faced with the prospect of being stuck with him for seven days did not fill me with joy. However, as the golden child I was obliged to look after him.

As head honcho Carol (aka. Mother Cooper, who is actually called Samantha but called Controlling Carol due to her OCD tendencies) had left the building, Ollie knew I had no authority what so ever and played on this all week. Whenever I tried to put him away so I could go to work he would sprint up the stairs and stare at me with those big, wonky eyes with an expression that said, “try it. Bitch” and when I would give up and leave him to do as he pleased he would cock his head to the side with a triumphant expression that said, “keep walking. I run this town now”. I am ashamed to admit that I accepted defeat on several occasions.

I arrived home from work to a phone call from my dad asking me to retrieve something from the loft. Something, may I add, that he had put in the furthest corner of the loft but had not boarded so I had to leap from beam to beam or risk falling through my newly painted ceiling. Wonderful.

After I had wrestled with the ladder and clambered into the loft, I came back down to a suspiciously quiet hallway and Ollie was not hovering in close range as usual. I searched the house to find that Ollie had set up camp in Mum and Dad’s bed. Not just on it, he had actually pulled back the cover and got inside it. Five minute debate with the dog, he decided of his own accord to vacate the bed. As many people are aware it has rained ridiculous amounts this week. Despite my lack of friendship with the dog, I have still walked him because I am a good person. So I thought I would jazz up the walking process by taking a tennis ball. He loves to play fetch (with anything he can scoop up with his under bite) so I thought this would be a good idea.

We entered the dog field, I removed his lead and threw the tennis ball. He took one step before plonking himself down on the floor and looking at me as if to say “Honey boo, what makes you think for one second I am trekking across this shit infested field to retrieve that tennis ball?” so I pointed as the tennis ball and said “Ollie! Fetch!” like he even knows and/or cares what I was saying. He looked to where I was pointing and looked back at me. “You’d better get walking, it isn’t going to fetch itself”.

So muggins over here went to get the ball and he came running over with his tale wagging before squatting and leaving me a lovely present to clear up. Fantastic.


In addition to the rainy walks I have had to endure, he won’t go out in the garden on his own so I too had to stand in the garden, in the rain whilst he sniffs out his latest piss patch. Since we got him ‘done’ he doesn’t lift his leg but instead squats like a girl. Usually this isn’t an issue, but recently – I say recently, in the seven days I have been looking after him – he has decided to stop bothering with a squat and instead just stands and pisses all up his own stomach. Are you kidding me?

  
So what have I learnt from my week with Ollie?

  1. I have little to no patience with both people and animals.
  2. Despite this lack of patience, my previous decisions are overruled by puppy dog eyes.
  3. I like animals to look at and like on Instagram, but not to pick up their crap.

Thank God my parents are back.

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