Middlebro and The Baker have bought a dog. It’s a girl called Lola. It’s very nice, but it keeps trying to lick my face. This disturbs me greatly. I do not like my face being licked by a creature whose favourite toy is half of The Baker’s padded pink bra (played with in the back garden in front of all the horrified neighbours). The other half, we believe, has been killed by Lola. Or eaten. Both thoughts are disturbing.
Middlebro (AND The Baker) are insisting that I think of the dog as my niece. She’s not my niece. She’s a DOG. A nice one, but I can’t have tea parties with her like I do with Little Niece N or play ladybirds, like I do with Little Star.
More disturbingly, when the family was out for dinner last week, both Middlebro and The Baker professed their sadness at missing Lola. She was 20 minutes away. Probably eating the bra. They were due to have drinks in Lilsister’s apartment and actually had a discussion about picking the dog up and bringing her with them.
This is NOT my niece. However, that is my brother, and that is more scary.