Resting bitch face

(is a thing, not surprisingly used pejoratively of women.)

Although this little bitch looks winsome enough in most circumstances she gave me such a horrendous runaround yesterday evening that I am entirely out of sympathy with her at the present time.

She and I  went for a sunny  early evening walk around the lower slopes of a  nearby coastal hill, admiring the milkwort and blackthorn (me) and  following the scents of badger and pheasant (her). I waited patiently for her to extricate herself from the thicket, carried on through the brambles to reach the familiar sward where she bounds ahead... but she did not bound, she didn't emerge at all. On I went, shouting her name, cursing her disobedience, but she didn't come and didn't come. Back I went through the brambles and the gorse, right back around the perimeter of the hill to where we started and began the circuit again in the other direction, shouting her name over and over.  I was almost on my knees by this time and imagining nightmare scenarios: traps, snakes, burrows...

Just as well the roads are quiet at present because it turned out she'd done something she'd never done before: gone home alone. Bitch.

I suppose I will forgive her, but not yet.