The Hound for Heroine training is not going well. How on earth do you train a dog to tell the difference between your reading glasses and your driving glasses anyway? Plus she's even more clueless than Lily when it comes to baking.
I give Dolly a break and head off to yoga (surely normal human beings are not designed to stand on one leg, bent double, with the other leg sticking out behind and an arm sticking out in front?), omitting to bolt her into her cage. I return to moderate carnage. How did she manage to wrestle the edging shears out from behind the box of walking boots? She hasn't actually amputated any important bodily parts, but the rubber hand grip is in tatters (and indeed, partly in her stomach). The contents of the bathroom bin have been scattered around the room and, sporting a half-moustache of cotton wool, Dolly is making inroads into my computer lead.
Bad hound.
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| Oh, did you say heat the jam tarts? |
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| The dog starts baking every time the doorbell rings |
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