It must just be me!

It must just be me! Like everything else that happens around here, it's obviously my fault.
Now, it's a well known medical fact that my two dogs are insane. In fact, they are not even my dogs according to Lucretia Borgia who, as I write, is upstairs lying in her smelly pit and scratching herself for all I know.
Well, there could be a case to be made about the dogs being hers.
A few years ago she said that she wanted a puppy that would sit on her knee and play with her, which is a bit iffy, she doesn't let me sit on her knee and play with myself, never mind play with her.
So I went out and got her a puppy at great expense, I got her an American Akita!
"What the fuck is that?" she demanded as the dog chewed her draught excluder.
"It's the puppy you wanted," said I. "He is called Khan."
"He's massive!" she whinged.
"Yes," said I. "But he will sit on your knee and play all day. What more do you want?"
"I wanted a little one!" cried Herself.
Not many women say THAT!"
"Fuck it," said I. "Some women are never happy."
A year or two passed and by then she loved Khan and his thieving ways and unsolicited violence toward all other creatures he managed to get his teeth into. Then we got Charlie.
We went to see her sister Olwyn and she had two little dogs; A little black thing called Mitzie and a Pachadale rat killer called Charlie. She looked like a miniature Doberman without the sticky-up ears. The two dogs had been fighting and bit BillyJean's finger when she tried to separate them.
"Charlie has to go!" Olwyn cried.
Jackie said, "Can I take her?"
I said, "Don't blame me when Khan gets hold of her and eats her."
Of course, it never happened, Khan loves her and spends his time letting the violent little bastard dive on his throat, snarling and growling. He just thinks it's funny.
I don't think it's normal to have a dog that hates everything apart from another tiny thing that also hates everything and everybody.
"I'll never part with my dogs," says she.
It must just be me.