Oh my God!! I’m the bulldog!!! The bulldog in the tree - it’s not a publishing dog … well it could be … and it will be … but the bulldog was me!!
I’m a freakin’ bulldog!!
My trusty cousin hit me square in the chops with that one yesterday. We were chatting and she said “you know that you are the bulldog, don’t you?” And I was like “I’m not a bulldog, I’m a poodle” and she goes “no, you are a bulldog. There may well be a publishing dog as well, but the tree was telling you that you are the bulldog”.
“What the bloody hell does that mean?”
“It means you are a feisty little one-eyed bulldog not about to give up your bone. You are drooling at the mere thought of the bone. You are a scowly faced, tough little stubborn bulldog. And your dream is the bone.”
“Are you telling me I should hand over my bone?”
“No!! Keep the bone. I’m just telling you that you are the bulldog”.
Great – so I am the bulldog.
My husband is a Labrador and I am a bulldog. And our kids must be bullbradors … or Labradogs … or something.
Do you think Qantas is going to let us on board?
Your cousin sounds sane. Sane, I tell you.
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