Deborah Ross: Don't get a dog until you know the things they'd never say ...

If you ask me
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The Independent Online

If you ask me, the success of Pudsey, the dancing dog, and Uggie, the Hollywood sensation, means dogs have never been more popular, but if you are thinking of acquiring one, you could know what you are letting yourself in for by reading my list of things dogs would never say, even if they could speak:

You look bushed, let's forget our walk today.

Drinking from the toilet is both unhygienic and déclassé.

I feel so cheap and worthless after casual sex.

What, no side salad?

You all go out without me, I'll be fine at home on my own.

Just seeing you happy is my reward ... I'm not in it for the biscuits.

The fact is, I'm just for Christmas, and will be off in the New Year.

Can I please, please have that operation where they cut your balls off?

Turning round three times before lying down is such a waste of time.

I'm so over squirrels.

Best not nap on the sofa in case I get hairs all over it.

I'm full, thanks.

As you value honesty, I should tell you I have fleas.

I do apologise, I had no idea I was wandering around with such a massive boner.

After you, I insist.

Let's go to the vet.

Lucky is so embarrassing; I wish I was called Christopher.

Watch out ... a muddy puddle!

Cheese, I can take it or leave it.

Fetch is not selling out.

Sit, play-dead, roll over ... how about something more intellectually ambitious, like a philosophy class?

Barking at any stranger who happens to pass the house just isn't my thing.

I do like it here, but think I'm ready for my own place.

I only sniffed his arse to be polite.

Watch out ... fox shit!

Picnic raiding is for losers.

This water in the bowl ... it isn't from the tap, is it?

What, no side salad and no garnish?

Being rough-towelled sure beats rolling on all the beds to dry myself.

Oh no, not homework again ... it's all I ate yesterday.

Does it have to be a walk? Couldn't we go to the movies?

I still blush when I think how I mounted that bitch from the wrong end.

It's true, I do like to lick my own genitals, but only in private.

After they've cut my balls off and done with my manhood, can I wear one of those lampshades and ricochet off door jambs and walk into lamp-posts and trip over my own feet? I can?