Dog days are over

Hello, and welcome once again to my blog! I started this blog last year as part of a college exercise, but now I want to resume it as one of my New Year's goals – "New Year's goals" having a slightly less prophetically doomed ring to them New Year's resolutions.
I write – and I want to have an audience for that writing. Even if that audience is just ex-boyfriends and people who once called me friend googling my name to see if I have fallen off the edge of the earth (we’ve all done it!). Well, I haven’t fallen off the edge of the earth, I’ve just moved to Cobh where I’m living with my boyfriend Paul and no pets. We made an attempt to become a family of three – we got a dog called Muffin last year, but he had to be fostered out to my parents due to a house move and a shortage of rented accommodation that allows pets. It was probably in the dog’s best interest anyway – ringing Daddy to wish him happy Father’s Day last year he responded ‘It’s doggie day here.’ Muffin, with us, had the life of a dog; now he is a spoiled child – although he has competition for my father's affections in the form of Molly and Mickey Dee.
Mickey Dee is a Cairn Terrier cross, hardy and full of energy, the doggie son a man would dream of, but Molly is the one who has wheedled her way most securely into my father’s affections. She really is Daddy’s girl. When she doesn’t get her own way she puts out her bottom lip and cries until Daddy gives in. It’s hard to go against her – a couple of suicide attempts have sharpened our awareness of the delicacy of her nature. The first time she threw herself off the ditch at the end of the garden and into the path of an on-coming car, losing her top teeth and making it easier for her to pout with that bottom lip of hers. She had to be nursed back to good humour, until she made a second attempt on her life by hurtling herself into a neighbour's slurry pit. It took much coaxing to bring her back from the brink with that one. As a result, she has Daddy wrapped around her finger.She must have read The Rules - make the man do the running and the work and he'll believe you're worth it.
One evening at about eight o’clock, Molly started to cry desolately. Daddy tried feeding her – no good. He petted her and coaxed her - still she wouldn't stop. Unable to figure out what was wrong with her, he decided she must want to go to bed. And off to bed he took himself so Molly could get some sleep (she could hardly be expected to go alone!). Dog days are over here in Cobh, but every day is doggie day with Daddy!