|This picture may have been edited.|
|"We didn't hear anything beyond 'walk'"|
One day, a few years ago when Mollie was a wee little puppy (not her most well-behaved time, as you may have noticed) in that awkward gangly 'MY LIMBS ARE GROWING!' stage of puppyhood, she was growing into her cheekiness. The little bugger. You only have to read the 'Wee' story to know that no-one was safe in her realm of terror. So, let's set the scene. A friend of mine at the time had constructed me a rather beautiful Christmas card. I'm sure you can already tell where this is going. Now, I'm not a big one for cards. I hate sending them, and not overly keen on getting them (more rubbish), but this particular one was beautiful. My friend had hand-crafted it and filled it with pictures of my favourite musical artists, and quotes, and all kinds of whimsical stuff like that. I wish I had a picture to show you, because it really was something else, and must've taken a while to make.
|So, here's a picture of Mollie looking innocent. She is not innocent.|
'Argh!' I remember shouting, as she plucked it from its place and ran off with it. Now, if you've read the Newspaper Game post, you know how this goes. She realises she has something of yours, you get mad and sprint after her like an enraged yeti, she slips easily away from your clutches and laughs at you. It's a fairly standard routine.
|This picture pretty much embodies everything that Mollie is.|
|"Surely you don't mean moi?"|
|Asked my mum to send whimsical xmas picture of dogs. She tried her best, bless her.|