Dog days

We were asked to write a paragraph about a lady on a bus, wearing a red jumper, carrying a Pekinese dog in her handbag. The dog wears a bow on her head the same colour as her owner’s jumper. 

Bella didn’t like wearing a bow on her head. She glowered at her owner from inside her handbag. It was too hot in there, and that was making her grumpy. She didn’t want to take part in Crufts. And who takes their dog to Crufts on the bus in a bloody handbag anyway? She bet all the other dogs got limousines to the contest, and were served fresh roast chicken on fine china, with bowls of sparkling mineral water. But not her. She got a handbag with a weird brown stain in the lining and a biscuit every half an hour. She eyed her owner’s red jumper. Bella’s bow had been chosen to match it, like she was a bloody fashion accessory. If that daft cow made those stupid kissy faces at her on national bloody television, Bella thought she might die of embarrassment.

Her owner’s face appeared over the top of the bag. ‘Everything OK in there, snookleface?’ she simpered.

Bella tried to articulate her thoughts into the most withering putdown possible.

‘Woof’, she replied.

Her owner looked away and stared out of the window.

‘That told her,’ Bella thought, curling up and going to sleep.