See Liz Freak

[lizwilliams]

See Liz's lodger catch plane to Amsterdam, leaving dog Pippin at home.

See Liz clean house/change litter trays/send proposal/answer email/do laundry/hang out washing.

See Liz, somewhat late, finally drive to work.

See Liz catch sight of Pippin bolting out of the driveway after car.

See Pippin narrowly miss being creamed by a BMW!

See Liz curse, inventively, and slam on brakes.

See Liz realise that, realistically, there is nothing she can now do except pull in and phone partner to retrieve dog.

Breathe sigh of relief with Liz as Pippin runs back into drive, this time just in front of a 4-by-4. Rear view of road remains dog-less.

Cover your ears! - as Liz once more spots dog in rear mirror, prancing down exact centre of road, followed by string of 12 cars.

See Liz screech to a halt, leap out of car, roar at Pippin in voice reminiscent of sergeant major on acid. Remember, children, not to use the words 'Get the fuck back here fucking now!' to your pet.

See passing chav couple have hysterics.

See Pippin's ears droop. See him run away into housing estate! See Liz sprint after him, grab hm in strangehold, bundle him into back seat.

See somewhat calmer Liz drive home, passing speeding Jag on way. Recognise Jag as, indeed, our other car, with T in it, looking for Pippin. See Liz try to attract T's attention. See Liz fail.

Cover your ears again! See Liz explain to Pippin that he has the road sense of a small pea. See Pippin confined to house and/or leash for duration of lodger's stay in Holland. See Liz phone local asylum and beg for sanctuary.

THE END

Comments

[kristine-smith.livejournal.com]

Cover your ears! - as Liz once more spots dog in rear mirror, prancing down exact centre of road, followed by string of 12 cars.

::wipes eyes, dabbing carefully to avoid messing up eyeliner::

Pip, pip--cheerio!

[purpletigron.livejournal.com]

Argh!

[lil-shepherd.livejournal.com]

Oh, my ears and whiskers!

It's always someone else's animal, isn't it? And always when you're late...

[autopope.livejournal.com]

Misery loves company -- do you want an update on the Two Fat Ladies' litter-tray politics?

(Two cats, three litter trays, and a bitter, scorched-earth campaign for ownership of the Littlest Tray. Go figure.)

[mevennen.livejournal.com]

Thank you. I could do with knowing it's not just me!

[greeneyedkzin.livejournal.com]

It's not just you, but you are hilarious. Like crossing Edward Gorey with those wonderful books by the Yorkshire veterinarian.

[kristine-smith.livejournal.com]

Yes, she is.

[mevennen.livejournal.com]

Thank you, but it's a form of exorcism.

I'm now calming my shattered nerves with mint tea.

[(Anonymous)]

No argument here.

Many silent prayers of thanks that I don't have nor am responsible for a dog, but no argument.

Esther

[lil-shepherd.livejournal.com]

I bet it's an open tray. They all have this thing about open trays...

[autopope.livejournal.com]

They have: the TechoTray™ (a litter robot that rakes itself) -- open; a domed megastructure not unlike the Giant Glaswegian Woodlouse of Worldcon-dom -- closed; and the wee vanilla tray in the back passage -- open. And guess what? The wee vanilla tray is the one they both wish to dominate. It's just the current no-cat's-land in their ongoing passive-aggressive war for world domination ...

[paleologa.livejournal.com]

*wipes eyes*

[juliabk.livejournal.com]

See Liz explain to Pippin that he has the road sense of a small pea.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAAH!!! Oh, damn, my sides hurt!!!!!

This is even better than the migrating furry speed bumps I have in my apartment. They claim to be cats, but insist on sleeping stretched across any narrow walkway they can find.

[birdhousefrog.livejournal.com]

That was as good as a Sid story. But seriously, I would have freaked, had a heart attack and used the same language. Animals and roads do not mix.

Oz

[kefiraahava.livejournal.com]

*finishes giggling*

What do you mean don't use those words to your pet? I've used the exact same words! Granted, I was chasing a cat through the woods and breaking trail through snow up to my thighs at the time. See, the evil creature (Rosalind, for those who met her) realized that even at her near-20 pounds she could run on the snow crust and the human had to break trail through the 2-3 feet of snow that had fallen to retrieve her. This was a lot more fun for her than for me.

She was heading into the state forest. Where many yahoo hunters (the kind who would literally go into the woods with rifle in one hand, six-pack in the other) went. And where the usual forms of wildlife lived, and where she could have been lost forever, being not as smart as she thought. At least screaming obscenities kept me from being shot--a localish woman had been killed while hanging out her laundry because she was wearing white gloves and a yahoo thought white gloves and hanging laundry = deer tail bobbing around and thus shot her. No lie.

I finally managed to grab Rosalind by the scruff and carry her back to the house--sustaining puncture wounds that made me wax even more obscene--and toss her inside. Then I went to change into dry clothes, fortify myself with spiked hot chocolate, and swear at her some more in passing while she sulked and hissed at me for messing up her fun.

Ah, pets...*wry grin*