Local mum, Annabelle Illet, has been suggesting that her newborn son and 4-year-old labrador are blood related, it has been confirmed through her rampant social media use.

Through posting photos of her son along with the family dog, Bruno, the 32-year-old high-end tupperware saleswoman has led her Facebook friends to believe that she actually thinks she gave birth to both of them.

By using the hashtag #brothers – and referring to them as ‘bros’ – the mother of three real humans is completely ignoring the fact that the dog actually came from a pet store in the Hunter Valley.

Psychologists say she shouldn’t attach herself to the dog in such a way.

“The little woofer is going to cark it in about five years” says local head doctor, Andrew.

“And it’s not just her, the kid’s going to suffer, too. How do you explain to your toddler that his ‘sibling’ has become so old that he can’t hear traffic”

However, Annabelle says no one understands the bond that her ‘sons’ share.

“His big brother is so protective. It’s adorable”




  1. Dear Sirs,

    As a Western Australian who has both seen and caused a good many strange things during my largely unchronicled lifetime, I should point out that in this colony before the advent of unnecessary and unwanted interferences like preachers and morals and laws and overly-officious constables issued with manacles, there were some such as this Illet woman who formed strong cross-species bonds of a somewhat familial nature, and before the Governor eventually got around to ordering the building of a lunatic asylum I had the opportunity to meet one of them whose story is worthy of sharing.

    An interesting chap, I haven’t mentioned his name or his exploits before now as I know several taxonomic biologists have made good careers for themselves attempting to explain away his genetic contributions to more than a dozen species already defined by Mr Linnaeus’ classification system, and they would be mortified to learn that all their beavering away and research work has largely missed the true facts of the matter.

    He first came to Governor Stirling’s notice on the voyage out, when the ship’s rats were seen voluntarily hurling themselves off the vessel in calm and non-threatening weather conditions. We knew he had lewd proclivities, and several suspected that the pained squeaking we were regularly hearing below decks had carnal origins, but anything that kept down the number of rats that you needed to fish out of your britches before you could put them and go up on decks on was looked on as a positive, and little was said publicly. That, we found out, was a mistake; as after the rats had all grown weary of molestation and made the leap we found ourselves regularly having to stop to pick up horses which were beginning to also hurl themselves off the ship, and on two occasions even Mr Peel’s milking cows went over the side of their own volition.

    Clearly something needed doing, and the Governor and ship’s captain took firm control at that point, had him charged with ‘Reckless fornication with intent to deprive colonists of sustenance and means of transport’ – a regulation I frankly admit I never knew existed, and one possibly made-up on the spot to deal with the situation, and he was securely fastened to the mast for the remainder of the voyage.

    Ashore, I got to better know this man who one fellow shipmate wag had joshingly named ‘The Faunacator’, and he confided to me that he was looking forward to his new life in the colony because, as he put it, “…those busybody bastards at the RSPCA back home were on to me”. I told him he should be fine here, as from the reading I’d done on Wikipedia before the voyage I’d understood that we weren’t due to get an RSPCA-like organisation in the colony until 1892. He seemed happy to hear that, although somewhat disturbed at the same time – for reasons I couldn’t actually fathom.

    Anyway – and this was what I meant to say before I got side-tracked – although he initially cut a swathe of fornication through the wondrous array of furry mammals he’d joyously located in his new place of domicile, whilst simultaneously throwing systematic taxonomy some curly ones to try and sort-out down the track, he actually ended up doing the proper Christian thing by settling on just one, always carried her lithograph around in his money belt whilst courting and proudly showed it to anyone who was untroubled by letting him talk to them, and eventually married her. Her name was Maude, a delightful free-spirited quokka he’d met on a trip to Rottnest Island, and she – or so he related – had forgiven him his sordid past, and was prepared to take him as her husband. They lived out their lives on the Island, and visitors and old friends who still remembered him could always find him sitting outside his burrow sunning himself, taking a pipe, and ready for a natter about how his life had turned for the better. Sadly, he eventually got mange, the alpha male chased him away from his settled home life, and ultimately he had to be shot by one of Captain Irwin’s troopers for hanging around the Island settlement intimidating people and menacingly demanding a handful of grain or a tomato.

    So, well done to you lads at the Advocate for relating Ms Illet’s fascinating puppy-dog tale, and she should be proud to know that she’s part of a subset of humanity which has a long and interesting history – even if shooting seems to be the logical end-game she’s facing.


    Ron Muppet

  2. My dearest Mr Muppet* (it would be presumptuous to call you ‘Ron’?),

    on or about January the ninth ult. you opined, correctly in my view, that this Illet woman will indeed face the logical end-game of being shot. This, you will agree, is the only humane means of reducing, in a Darwinian sense, the gene pool – nay puddle – from which she and all her heirs and successors have and will emerge.

    Fondest fondlings

    Bea Arthur Donan Coyle

    * pronounced ‘MuppAY’ I can only assume

  3. How do you have a labrador as a baby without the world knowing ?
    I’ve heard the term ‘He/she’s a dog’ but FFS having something that big is stretching things a bit too much for comfort. Does she also have six tits to cope with future litters ?
    WTF is the world coming to when people imagine being the mother of a dog ?
    Now a kitten. That’s a different thing altogether.


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