My dog has a lampshade for a head

The above sentence may seem strange to you, however for me it's strange for very different reasons.

Old lampshade head herself

You see, despite the hilariously heart-warming picture above, I used to have a slightly crippling fear of dogs. After one too many youthful encounters of seemingly rabid devil creatures leaping up at me, the playful look of psychosis in their eyes, I decided that I was terrified of these monstrous creatures.  This became all the easier to accept due to the fact I was cat people. The miserable, shut-in me probably related easier to a creature that had no real reason to leave the house, except to occasionally crap in next door's garden. Coupled with the fraught experience of trying to walk my Auntie's increasingly potty array of dogs, I quickly became of the impression that these animals were not for me. So I blissfully continued me formative years crossing the road at the sight of dog walkers.

Then I met Gayle.

In the love-addled horniness of desire, I kind of glossed over the moment where she told me she had a Rottweiler. Somewhere deep in my reptile brain, a frantic little goblin was punching me in the part of my head that stimulated fear, but he was locked in a desperate struggle with an equally frantic goblin who controlled the slightly ruder parts of my body. This, for me, was something of a conundrum.

Now, since I probably lost a few folks at the first sentence, I won't give a full blown account of how this changed. Suffice to say I learnt how to pick up dog shit without retching (and in a bag, no less), watched a few episodes of 'The Dog Whisperer' and set out forging a relationship with the enemy.

Something odd happened.

At first, Hera was Gayle's dog.
 "Your dog knocked that vase over."
"Your dog ate the post again.", I would bluntly say.
"Our dog, darling." She would kindly remind me.It turns out this wasn't just a vain attempt to spread the blame.
Soon old slobber chops became the definite article -
"I'll walk the dog."
"The dog has her face stuck in the bin."
"Our dog, darling." Would come the reply.

This gradually started the process of acceptance and words to represent Hera as an 'other' slipped from my Lexicon. However, it seems a happy medium was not reached and recent events have shifted things chillingly to a place I would never have expected.

"My dog has a lampshade on her head."