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As children, Crazy D, L’il Sis and I flirted with being utterly incorrigible. We had made no formal agreement as such regarding our behaviour, rather, we went with the flow and found our own strengths as and when they presented themselves.

And since we have always had a dog in our home, we felt that any such creature should at least do her fair share of the heavy lifting as it were.

Unfortunately, every dog we have been lucky enough to have has been as reticent as we were as far as taking direction is concerned and as such, our furry partners in crime weren’t much help. Sure, they’d enjoy the spoils of whatever we got – as all our best misadventures involved seeking out and attaining forbidden foods – but that was as far as the dogs ever went.

I assume one of us bright lights attempted to pin any and all blame on whatever dog was nearest at the time, but sadly The Mom is quite clever and wasn’t having any of it.

Which is how Mr Nobody came to be. And I do believe The Pig could take a lesson from our playbook here.

Mr Nobody was our cumulative imaginary friend who only ever got up to no good. He was an utter menace and because of that his life was shrouded in shame. Whenever any one of us got caught red-handed which was more often than we’d have liked and no nearly as often as The Mom would’ve liked, we blamed him.

The Mom, being the creative type, would hear us out.

“So you’re telling me that Mr Nobody came in here and forced you to eat my secret stash of chocolate?”

Picture two curly-headed ginger kids and one white blonde nodding, eyes as big as possible so as to further proclaim innocence.

“How did he know where I kept it?”

It took us a while to realise that we would need to construct a full fleshed out plausible story.

“I dunno,” one of us would say.

“I bet he had help,” another of us would offer.

“Help?” The Mom would say. “And which one of you chocolate-covered angels was feeling helpful today?”

L’il Sis and I would immediately point at Crazy D who would take that moment to unleash The Bomb which was his best temper tantrum ever.

The Mom, used to these outbursts and in no way phased by them would simply ignore him. “Stop taunting your brother,” she’d say.

“But it’s true! He helped Mr Nobody!” I’d cry, with L’il Sis, who looked more angelic than all the children put together and rarely got into trouble would nod in solidarity.

The Mom who was probably feeling unwell knowing that she now did not have her afternoon snack of chocolate to hand quickly lost interest in our feeble attempts to distract her from the problem at hand.

She would then look us up and down, waiting for one of us to cave. Which was generally me, feeling that if I offered something close enough to a confession that I would be granted leniency. I hadn’t started watching cop shows yet, but when I did, they made a lot of sense.

“Chocolate makes us bad! We couldn’t help ourselves!”

A general round of chastisement would ensue, Crazy D would be marched upstairs to his room to calm down and The Mom would get back to whatever it was she was meant to be doing which of course didn’t involve us or Mr Nobody.

So I think The Pig really needs to up her game. Because she knows when she’s been bad, you can see it when she makes her guilty stroke-face smile. And she’s pleased with herself, if she’s anything like the rest of us, thinking that she’s managed to outsmart her masters. And what she doesn’t realise is that The Mom, and L’il Sis, are both very well-versed in this sort of wicked behaviour. Which means they tire of it quickly.

I don’t know what The Pig is hoping to achieve and I can’t bear to think it’s only the ingestion of garbage and other fetid items. I can only assume it’s the attention she craves. And in which case, she’s really going to need to take it up a few notches. Because everyone knows she can get into cupboards and garbage and the rest. Now, if The Mom came home and The Pig had not only made herself a sandwich but had also made The Mom one, I should think her abilities would be more warmly received.