I need to brush my teeth

"You know," I tell them, "I used to have a dog. Her name was Bailey, Bailey the Beagle. I came home one day to find that Dave and the others had shaved her, shaved her completely bald. She looked like she was made of uncooked bacon. Shit. I'd forgotten about all that. I feel sick." I say, really, really feeling like I am about to vomit.

"They shaved your dog?!" Says Jame, eyes wide.

"They shaved my dog."

But the story didn't end there. Bailey got ill, caught a cold I guess. I left the heating on, and leave her in the midst of extra blankets and stuff, guessing it was just a case of waiting for her fur to grow back.

A couple of days later I came home earlier than usual, to find that they had let Bailey out, into the kitchen. On a low heat. In the oven.

I got her out. She was still alive. She died about an hour later. I think it was the shock that killed her. No one said anything.



Rollo