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Groom Vs Dog – The Puppy Dog Eyes

Speaking to one of our regular readers the other day it was brought to my attention that we haven’t heard lately from the third (and he would argue most important) member of the Bride Vs Groom team: Small Dog.

Well to be honest the reason for this is that ever since Dom and I got married, the small dog known by some as Paddington Bear and others as…well, Small Dog, seemed to have pretty much accepted defeat in his bid to separate us and keep Dom for himself. Or so I thought…

Paddington_Bear_Small_Dog

Small Dog’s previous jealous tactics seemed to centre around diving between us, chewing on my hand whenever it tried to join Dom’s and generally insisting I join him on cliff-top walks and jerking suddenly on his lead at opportune moments. After apparently accepting that the addition of a new ring (albeit one that Small Dog has attempted to ensure smells of him) meant that his tactics had probably been a failure, he appears to have taken on a new tactic:

The cuteness attack.

The once always in-your-face dog has now taken to sitting all alone, directly below the TV we’re watching and directing facial expressions at Dom not dissimilar to those adopted by Puss from the animated movie Shrek in order to lure his opponent in. Rather than previously being pushed away when trying to separate us, these expressions have been leading to Dom’s voice raising to a pitch that only Small Dog can actually hear with phrases that sound vaguely like

“ohmygodpaddythat’sjustthecutestthingi’veeverseenisn’thesweetMattawwwblesshim”

and

“aww, let YOUR Domi give you a cuddle”.

Groom Vs Dog

This is then generally followed by Dom herself moving from her seat beside me, picking the furry critter up and laying down on the other sofa with him atop licking her cheek.

This targeted cuteness has GOT to stop.

The attacks have been building momentum, gradually winning over the heart and mind of my partner. And then, suddenly, it happened.

Having awoken early I had left my snoozing bride for a much needed lie-in. A few hours later, having been out to the shops to buy the necessary ingredients, I pushed open the door ready to bestow a full English breakfast and steaming cuppa upon the now wide-awake Dom.

She seemed grateful, if a little startled, and grabbing my own cup of tea and the iPad I sat down beside her and began to read the latest made-up football transfer news. As I occasionally looked across she was clearly enjoying her breakfast, wolfing it down at a rate of knots I was unaccustomed to seeing from her, often chewing surprisingly noisily. With the breakfast completed in record time I removed the tray and lay down next to her. I was surprised to hear a yelp.

Suddenly from under the covers squirmed an unexpected site: a small furry Dog with a guilty expression and what appeared to be tomato ketchup smeared across his muzzle. Clearly caught red-pawed and distinctly red-faced he did what any other male would do in this situation: he lay down on my side of the bed and farted in my general direction.

Cute?

I think not.

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