Hitler, Doggies And Me.

For many of yous (and I am certain on this) Sundays are mostly about sleeping in till late. It’s mostly seen as the “recuperating” day of the week – un-winding from office stress, Biwi’s buk-buk, boyfriend’s chuk-chuk or an extremely active Saturday night. But unfortunately, the same lutful pleasure isn’t a part of my weekly planner and this has been case for the last 3 years or so.

And the ones responsible for this outmost cruelty are – Hitler No. 2 and my dogs. Here the name Hitler has been lovingly attributed to my dearest mummy and No. 2 because the leading position rightly has been handed on to my brother. To make matters even worse, I have two more of the same kind in my life (Now stop grinning you impolite fools, sensitivity is what is needed here).

As for the dogs, well they are the reason behind Hitler No. 2’s “Sunday Sunrise Torture Camp” for yours truly. According to mommy darling, Sunday is the only day of the week where I am at home in morning (yes, this doomed soul works on Saturdays as well) and since I waste my Saturday evenings over indulging in Bollywood movies, theater, friends, parties…you get the point– this time is allocated for the doggies.

In case you are wondering why only in the mornings and not any other time – Well the truth is, for Hitler No. 2, what is convenient for the house helpers, the cook and our part time maid is far greater than her precious (not!!) daughter’s sleep. So on Sundays, the helpers are off doggie duty (which in turn means more sleeping time for them) and I am in-charge of their needs – from potty walk, to play time to bath followed by making and feeding breakfast and lunch.

Not that I am complaining, I love spending time with my babies but at times a little compassion is all I ask especially during those (very few) over hectic previous nights – but in Hitler’s land, what Hitler says….goes.

Last Sunday was no exception as well. Slept at 4.00 am, was up not-bright but early around 7.00 am and started off with the regular “slavery” parade. But this time round, my (visiting) best friend joined in and no, she didn’t lend a helping hand…all she in fact was laugh and take pictorial evidence of my misery.

Here are some for your viewing pleasure as well.

On a more serious note though I am glad that my mum is pretty fanatic when it come to spending quality time with my pooches after all they are my responsibility as well. Plus it’s not only good for them (and this may sound absurd) but on many levels therapeutic for me as well.

Just looking at their excited faces, podgy wet nose, feverishly wagging tails and innocent eyes…those understanding glares – Ah! They are so bloody worth it and the world is a better place.