Later, we watch a movie, puppy is allowed on the bed, snuggled beside me.
I make some comment about what’s on screen to him, he answers me, laughing. It takes us both a few seconds to realise that he has spoken.
I raise my eyebrows at him. Comically, his wrapped paws fly to cover his mouth, his eyes widen, a look of shock and horror frozen on his face.
“Can puppies talk?!” I demand.
He shakes his head, his hands still over his mouth, his pretty eyes staring at me in a parody of fear, like a cartoon character. I want to laugh.
I grab him by the collar, pull him over my lap and smack him as hard as I can on his arse. A stereotypical ‘bad dog’ spanking, a word with every strike.
“Puppies. Can’t. Talk. Can. They?!! No. They. Can’t. And. You. Know. That…” etc.
I hit him until I have run out of words and my hand gets sore and his arse is pink.
When I am done, he snuggles in beside me again, I restart the movie.
Sometimes, even when it doesn’t quite work, you can still get something out of it…