‘YOU naughty, naughty boy! Look at the mess you’ve made of this Cabinet Room! No, don’t give me that innocent, hangdog look – it won’t work any more. It’s not as if you haven’t been house-trained, and I’ve spent hours teaching you to stay, fetch and walk to heel. And look at the state of you! We’ll have to get you groomed soon, you look like a burst mattress. No, it’s no use you whining pathetically, you won’t get round me that way. Go on, get out of my sight – lie down and go to sleep. Yes, you may very well look at me with those big, soulful eyes. Oh, all right . . . you’re forgiven. Come over here to Mummy, you great softie. But you’ll have to behave in future and learn to do what I tell you, Boris – we’ve had enough trouble with Dilyn. Now, who wants his tummy tickled, then?’
If you appreciated this article, perhaps you might consider making a donation to The Conservative Woman. Unlike most other websites, we receive no independent funding. Our editors are unpaid and work entirely voluntarily as do the majority of our contributors but there are inevitable costs associated with running a website. We depend on our readers to help us, either with regular or one-off payments. You can donate here. Thank you.
If you have not already signed up to a daily email alert of new articles please do so. It is here and free! Thank you.
