Puggled

We're thinking of gettin a dug.
_{Dug being what Scottish folk say when they mean DOG}

My brother said with what could only be described as a defiant look on his face.

I was over at my mum's house to take her out for the afternoon and my brother had popped in and decided to come along too.

Aye very good.

Said I, as I snaffled yet another biscuit from the plate my mother had put out.

Whit do you mean, very good?

Said my brother belligerently. As if I had shat in a ciabatta and told him it was Persian beef.

I sighed. I was too hungover for mad family nonsense. I mean, what was hard to understand about what I had said?

I meant very good. As in, that's nice. As in, that's good you are getting a dog. As in, I'm fucking pleased for you.

I glared at him.

He glared back.

So you got a problem with me and the wife getting a dug?

I paused with a biscuit halfway to my mouth and looked at him in disbelief.

Dude. I don't give a fucking fuck if you get a dog. Fuck, get four of them and get them to pull you about on a fucking chariot for all I care?

My brother glared at me as if I were a cactus he had mistaken for a butt-plug.

Aye well. We're getting one. This week. Whether you like it or not.

I harrumphed loudly and exasperatedly.

Dude, I told you. I am happy if you get a dog. I'm pleased. I don't know why you are getting your knickers in a twist about it all!?

Aye alright then. I just thought you would have something sarky to say about it. It's cool.

My brother shoulders dropped as he relaxed a little. Mine did too.

Smashing. So what kind of dog you getting?

I asked politely.

A Pug. Brilliant wee dugs, the missus loves them.

I tried not to fall off my chair.

What??

He looked at me his face all angry again.

I shook my head.

Nothing...

Then a a giant snort erupted out of me as if I were a pig eating a pigeon.

Ya dick.