I turn off my alarm and open my bedroom door, take one step and promptly put my foot into something warm and sticky. I keep my eyes squeezed shut for approximately 20s, before casting my eyes downwards to a pile of bright green goo. Based on the colour and its jelly-like consistency, I’m unable to tell which end it came out of. Upon peering around the corner, I can see several other small green mounds dotted around the kitchen, but my focus is pulled towards the overexcited puppy bounding towards me. Quickly, I shut my door, pulling myself inside, with a small part of me hoping he hasn’t seen me yet. The sound of The Dog throwing its tiny body at the door, along with a succession of shrill yaps, suggests otherwise.
I have to collect a few things from my parents’ house this morning, and as it’s not far, I decide to hit two birds with one stone by taking The Dog with me for his daily walk. “Oooh isn’t he just so cute!” My family coos, flocking around him. “No,” I tell them, quite honestly. I hand the lead to my sister, heading inside to grab my things. Having taken one step away from The Dog, the barking resumes. A mere 5 minutes later, I return with my stuff. My dad thrusts The Dog at me. “Here you go.” One by one, my family head inside, all having lost interest in The Dog.
That afternoon, as I type on my laptop, I can hear a noise from the other side of the room. I can’t place it, but it doesn’t sound like a good noise. I get up to locate the source. The Dog is chewing on the end of a severed cord. It was once attached to a lamp, but I can see the other end of the cord, wires trailing, exposed like entrails. I remove the remains of the lamp, take a photo and send it to The Owner, who instructs me to bin it. The Lamp? I wonder, or The Dog?
The next morning, before I go to work, I’m so distracted by the constant yapping that I accidentally take the ‘Unwind’ pills meant for helping you sleep instead of my multivitamins, which are in the jar next to them. Just what I needed at 8am on a Sunday; I’m going to have to spend extra on a large coffee now.
It’s time to leave the flat, which means I have to be alert. Since the toy distraction no longer works, I’ve been forced to develop a new strategy to leave the house without The Dog escaping with me. This immaculately designed plan involves picking up The Dog and tucking it under one armpit, and then closing the door slowly before bundling it through the closing gap and slamming the door shut behind it. It’s worked so far, but this time however, I manage not only to allow The Dog to escape, but forget to move my head out of the way and end up shutting my head in the door and breaking a nail in the process. It hurts. A lot. I let out a long, low growl, which I hear The Dog replying to from the other end of the hall.
When I get home from work I head for the shower. As I wait for the running water to heat up, I notice that my shower puff is missing. Strange. I’m sure it was there a few minutes ago. Simultaneously, it occurs to me that this is the longest I haven’t heard The Dog bark in quite some time, which usually means it’s found something to entertain its tiny self with. I decide to investigate. The situation rapidly escalates to one where I am running around the balcony in my underwear, trying to catch The Dog, with my shower puff clenched between its jaws. Eventually I manage to wrestle it back and retain some of my dignity. “NAUGHTY,” I tell The Dog, pointing my finger at it along with my best intimidating glare. The Dog yaps back at me, its little tail wagging so hard that it might fall off. I leave the room, and The Dog goes back to humping its poor traumatised teddy.
An Extroversion 