They have problems too, you know.

Biggles, my little puppy, isn't a puppy anymore. He's growing old.
And what does growing old mean? Yes, yes, you guessed it - bladder control problems.

My family usually sit by the table for quite a long time when having dinner on weekends, and Biggles tends to get a bit annoyed with this. As he did last night.

"He seems a bit uneasy."
"Um... When was it we come home after the walk?"
"Oh, eh, one'o'clock."
"So he hasn't been out for seven hours? Should I call animal social services?"
"Oh, he's fine, you know he can hold it."

Roughly a minute later my dad looks over my mum's shoulder. "Okay, now he's peeing."

Yes, he was. He was peeing while staggering all the way from the kitchen out in the hallway, and - my hands are shaking as I type this - came dreadfully close to my shoes as he wobbled past.
The look in his eyes said everything. "If you guys yell at me for this, I'm warning you. You'll wake up tomorrow morning with every single pair of shoes out here torn apart, and a big pile of poo on the floor. No, wait, scratch that last part. Make it on the carpet."

Yeah, dogs' eyes can tell you a lot. Needless to say we didn't yell at him.
And I promised him I'd look up the animal social services' number.