Fool me once....
When I was a small boy, the thing I wanted most in the world was a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel (seems a bit of a gay choice of breed now, but what can I say, I was only six years old).

After getting fed up with hearing my protestations that "yes, I really could look after it"/"no, I wouldn't get bored with it"/"yes, I did realise that dogs live for a long time" etc. my parents finally conceded to let me prove myself worthy of dog ownership (and that I could walk it every morning). For six months I had to get up extra early every day, walk to the local shop to buy a newspaper and walk the long way home.

I was often tempted to walk back the way I had come. Fear that today might be the day that my parents chose to check on me (they never did) kept me to the long route home. It was a pain at first, but soon it just became an established routine. My innocence prevented me from realising the significance of the anxious looks exchanged between my parents towards the end of the six months as I returned every day with the paper. I remember feeling so happy the day I completed the challenge and was practically pissing myself with the excitement and anticipation of going to Wood Green Animal Shelter to pick my dog.

When my Dad sat me down and explained that I couldn’t have a dog because it would fight with my sister’s cat, I didn’t take it lying down but he countered every argument that I could come up with. I even asked if I could have a dog “after my sister’s cat died”. Thank fuck he had learnt his lesson and answered with a definite “No” rather than a “maybe” or a “yes”. The consequences for the cat would have been appalling and I wouldn’t be the man that I am today.
(Scr@p, Sat 18 Feb 2006, 16:45, Reply)