Thursday, 2 January 2014


DON'T GO GETTING ANY BRIGHT IDEAS, PIG FACE. Nobody likes frostbitten bacon.

Jesus Christ, what happened to global warming? Did the idiot who invented it freeze to death or something, because holy crap is it cold out there. I'm not sure where you're reading this but if you're not in Canada, WAY TO GO! We're in the middle of one of the deepest freezes since Nicole Kidman's forehead. It's so cold that Pig Face's usual two walks and 52 pee breaks have been sharply curtailed to "only when I think your bladder is actually going to burst and ruin my hardwood." 

She's clearly not happy with me. She sits there shivering on the front porch, looking balefully at me and wondering why I'm not fetching the leash and treats that forego walkies,
while I look balefully back at her and do the "hurry-up-you-daft-bitch-my-feet-are-freezing" dance.

And in case you're thinking of reporting me to the Swine Cruelty authorities, I DO in fact have a very jaunty little jacket for her. She hates it as much as she hates these things, she squeals like she's being slaughtered when I try to put it on her, and besides, I figure if she feels the warning nip of frostbite she'll be only too happy to just handle her business and trot briskly back into the house on her little cloven hooves. I like to think I am smarter than a pig-dog. It's called a "goal," people. At least I have one.