“Hux, why is there dog shit all over the rug?”

That was how my evening started. 

Huxley, our dear, sweet Jack Russell, had pooped all over the hallway floor. 

Huxley is a lovely boy, but he’s got a naughty little habit in that, when he wants outside, he doesn’t always communicate. Sometimes he’ll communicate, and how quickly you respond can be the difference between a clean home and breaking out the enzymatic cleaner. He knows where “outside” is too, so “close enough” is close enough, and his business is now your problem. After all, you should have been paying attention. 

He’s cocked his leg against the sofa (and while he thought I couldn’t see him!) before now, and pooped in the lounge while Master Levi was leaning the other way to find the TV remote. So if he thinks we haven’t noticed his need to go, he’ll go. 

He’s honestly at DEFCON 2 for spending the rest of his life in nappies. 

There’s nothing wrong with him medically either, the vet has given him a clean bill of health. He is an anxious dog, but we knew that anyway — he’s been anxious since day one. The vet thinks it’s an attention thing because I’ve always been at home. 

I did wonder about a bell or a button, but the vet isn’t convinced either system will work. In her own words, she thinks my chances of success “may be patchy at best.” 

She thinks he may see it as a fun new trick that he does with Mummy, rather than a communication tool. 

So unfortunately, I spend much of my days on high alert for something that smells other than roses. 

Also last night I spotted our new rice cooker on the side, the replacement to the one that refused to heat up at my request. I know that shouldn’t come as a surprise, that a rice cooker would be found in the kitchen, but this one was still in its box. 

And I looked at it for a moment, wondering why it was still in its box. Even in spite of my absence this week, why had it not been, you know, unpacked and put away? After all, two adults run this show.  

My first thought was weaponised incompetence, but I didn’t want to believe that Master Levi would do something like that to me. He’s a very capable man, highly esteemed in his work. So, why had he failed to unpack the thing? 

Granted our conversation about the thing didn’t go how I wanted it to go. I wanted to check with ChatGPT that I know (I do) what “weaponised incompetence” is before I suggested it to him, but that was when he approached me. 

I minimised the conversation, fearing that he might read it and fear something far worse than what it was. 

“There’s no need! Is everything okay?” he asks. I sighed. 

“No, to be honest. Everything is not okay.” 

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

I flicked the the box of the rice cooker and looked at him.

“Why is it just.. Sitting there?”

“I’ve been looking after you!”

“And I’ve been fine! Bedridden but fine. I appreciate you caring for me, but when you care for me but let this place become a shit hole, that’s not really caring for me. That’s just…. Letting my workload pile up. I know it’s tough having to run the joint when the other half of the team is in bed. Maybe if you’d left your bugs in the office-”

“Enough with that” he says with a smile. 

“Just sayin’” I reply.

“I showered Sunday, on my own and without any assistance from you. You could have unboxed it then?”. Master knows my argument is irrefutable. 

“I’m sorry” he says. I smile. 

“Thank you,” I say, “but there needs to be some changes. I need to be able to count on you.” 

So I started to believe that maybe it wasn’t weaponised incompetence, maybe it was genuine incompetence? I mean, not that Master can’t load the dishwasher or feed the dog — he’s more than capable of both of those — but maybe he really doesn’t see the essential chores that I see? 

So this morning, I wrote “The Queen’s Mandate” — a short list of essential chores that would keep the place functional during my medically-required absences. Sure, it won’t feel like a Royal Marriott Hotel, but at least it will be livable. 

I wanted it to have a “Letters of Last Resort” feel, like something only to be used in times of absolute crisis. Hence, “The Queen’s Mandate” — when the Queen is incapacitated, it is the decree to be followed in order to maintain the Kingdom. 

At the top is a very-serious (but not really) statement:

In the event that the Queen is medically incapacitated, The Queen’s Mandate shall come into effect. The following actions are to be carried out without instruction:

It does have a clause though, in that is supported by a “Dom Punishment” — a 2-point compensation on the Obedience app for every sick day that Master Levi fails to follow the Mandate. Because after all, a Kingdom without a Crown will never hold.