Whilst agreement in principle was thrashed out through a process of attrition some weeks ago, the details have been trickier. The CFO likes his dogs big and stupid and faithful. I like my dogs small, elegant, irascible and frankly not terribly bothered about you. Cats, basically. Initial compromise discussions alighted on this for its tortoise friendly properties.
On reflection, however, I vetoed the Welsh Terrier on the basis that it is poo coloured and I could just imagine those moustaches filled with drool trailing over me demanding to be loved, and me just not being able to see past its ugliness. I may be shallow, but at least I know it.
The CFO then came up with this:
"You ARE joking? It looks like the kind of dog you get from a bloke in a pub when you're blind drunk and haven't been home for three days and you think in a misguided moment it will stop your wife from throwing things at you. And of course the kids fall in love with it when you bring it home but your wife hates it and hates you even more for being such an unbelievably stupid bastard."
"Well, what do YOU suggest?"
The CFO had already vetoed the dog of my dreams:
And for my 'reserve' dog, I really wanted one of these but apparently they are vicious killers when it comes to other animals, such as, for instance, tortoises. Every dog I suggested would turn out to be a vicious killer basically. So no go.
"Hmm. I want a whippet then."
"C'est quoi un weeepette?"
"Like a small greyhound. Very smooth and quiet".
"Those TREMBLY things? How can I train it to kill burglars?"
"Admit you are very demanding: It must be trained to kill burglars AND not to touch tortoises."
"Yes, but but but..."
But a couple of days of intensive googling later convinced him la mort dans l'ame, that indeed, a weepette was the thing for us what with it not being smelly, not shedding hair and enjoying blankets and sleeping 20 hours a day. And ever since he has been encouraging, one might even say goading me, to get one. If he was hoping I would finally see sense, he was of course dealing with the wrong woman. Yesterday he stood over me and forced me to phone a woman with weepettes somewhere near Amiens. And so I found myself today driving five hours to collect this weepette who we have called Oscar, although the spawn are still calling him "Weepette".
And now, of course, I am terrified. Broken nights, poo everywhere, risibly poor discipline - haven't we been here before? What WAS I thinking? Fuuuuck!