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Originally Posted by Danny Himself
He wakes me up this morning so he can whine at me and do the sad-labrador face. I assume he needs to go outside to do his business, so I groggily make the marathon stumble down two flights of stairs and kindly do so, so he can run about barking like a twat on the gravel forecourt thing.
Next thing I know, I'm in the kitchen to find some juice, and there's a big steaming pile of dog shit right in the middle of the floor. Fucking hell! Why did he even wake me up if he'd already took a massive shit? And of course, nobody else being home, I had to poke around the flat looking for cleaning products. I sprayed it with Febreze but it didn't disappear, so I had to resort to crafting a makeshift scoop with yesterday's Daily Mirror. It didn't work very well so now there's a big skid mark all over the floor in the kitchen and I can't be arsed and the dog is wagging his tail like a TWAT  |
Also, this is the exact reason I hate dogs and love cats. They take their shits in boxes, all nice and convenient for you.