In control…

When you decide to let the dogs out front for a morning wee and you are in your pjamas, sitting on the step, cuppa in hand and it seems like a good idea…Until suddenly the workmen start appearing and it’s a mad race to get back inside, away from eyes that may see your zebra PJ’s and non matching teddy bear slippers in the morning sun.Followed up by your most quiet, loud shout, going through all the dogs names in sequence and silently counting them as the totter back through the front door to the safety of the behind the curtains. 1, 2, 3, 4 satisfied that they are all accounted for…Or so you think because the one name you’ve said the most frequently (and the first name you shouted) is still sat outside – seemingly happily ignoring you.No this little terrorist does want to come in. He wants to remind his hooman who exactly is in charge here (and it’s not them.)Because right at this precise moment his hooman is losing her shit trying not to draw attention to herself as she raises the octaves in her voice slightly and clenches her teeth while trying to protray dominance and stay in control to make her darling little bundle of fluff comply…However, as you can see it is not working!For he is Lord Willie, first of his name. King of the cheeseburger and tormentor of cats and I am well, the mad lady who stands in the garden in her pjamas, threatening Willies.😲😳🤪

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