Wolfie, In The Library, With A Candlestick

I don’t want to come across as a tin foil hat conspiracist, but I think my dog may be trying to kill me.

I am writing this in the kitchen whilst Wolfie sleeps at my feet, the picture of doggy innocence. His paws twitch whilst he dreams his little doggy dreams. What if those dreams are not dreams of chasing rabbits in sunlit meadows but dreams of murderous intent? What if Wolfie is plotting my demise?

He started slowly with his insidious plans by removing all my free time as he demanded walks and treats and cuddles. He stepped up his campaign by stealing prized possessions and chewing them beyond recognition. Two pairs of glasses, my phone, countless cushions bear the marks of his frenzied attacks.

Events then turned more sinister. He staged an elaborate plot to bring me literally to my knees. Stealing my son’s coat, he ran leaving a trail of dog toys perfect for tripping over and slipping on in his wake. His plan worked and dropping like a stone, my bad knee puffed up leaving me sore and limping for a couple of weeks.

He reached theĀ apotheosis of his dastardly plans today. It was either a beautifully orchestrated attempt on my life or a spur of the moment act of homicidal rage carefully disguised as an unfortunate ‘accident’.

The scene of this fiendish act was a winding path alongside a river swollen by the recent rains. A newly fallen tree caught my eye. Felled by the recent rain and winds, it lay shattered across the river, it’s roots reaching to the sky. I stopped on the path to take a photo when I was suddenly rammed in the back of the legs by Wolfie running at full tilt.

Three things happened simulatenously; my legs buckled, my bad knee flashed white hot pain and I felt the earth fall away beneath me. I thought I had fainted, but I had in fact been knocked backwards down the steep river bank and was hanging head down over the water, stopped from fallng in only by the swift actions of my walking companions.

For a few seconds we were caught in a mad embrace, my bobble hat filling with water and finally floating loose from my head as I dangled precariously close to theĀ  torrent, one friend holding an arm and another a leg whilst I whimpered in pain. I was pulled slowly backwards up the wet bank where I lay on the ground waiting for the world to stop spinning.

I hobbled back to my car, a slow twenty minutes of mud, rocks and stiles with a chastened Wolfie at my side, dripping wet from where he had launched himself into the river in order to retrieve my sodden hat.

Two painkillers and an ice pack later, my knee is grumbling quietly in the background. Wolfie sleeps peacefully at my feet, maybe dreaming of his next assassination attempt…


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