My childhood dog had puppies quite late in life, two of whom we kept. When they were a year or so old, they were obviously annoying the hell out of her whilst we were all out of the house because she opened the 'fridge so that they could gorge on things... whilst she napped in peace. When we came home, it was to find two pups with very full bellies (they'd eaten sausages, butter, cold cuts and if I remember rightly half a trifle... they left the other half for us!) curled up asleep in the kitchen and their mum lying in her bed glaring at us because we'd had the audacity to disturb her peace!
Other examples of my childhood dog's dickish behaviour, in no particular order:-
(1) She had three puppies when she was knocking on a bit, and which were not only her first (and last!) litter, but also something she managed to keep hidden until a week before they were born. There were a lot of expensive scans at the vets and a C-section when one of them got stuck. I'm not sure she ever forgave the vet/my mother, because as far as she was concerned she went to the vets with a belly-ache... and woke up to find three demanding creatures next to her! She'd hide from them every time they demanded feeding which, as they were greedy little things (see above!), was quite often and I spent a vast portion of my evenings crawling underneath my bed and hauling her out so that she could go and sit in the vague direction of the pups looking decidedly pissed off!
(2) When she was a pup herself, she shat in my toybox. Which was an actual box. To this day, I'm not entirely sure how she managed to do so, and still reckon she must have performed an acrobatic hand/head stand in order to shit on my toys. She wasn't even meant to be in my room, but had shoved the door opened (it was a bungalow) and wandered in whilst my parents were... doing whatever my parents did when I eventually collapsed each night (celebrating, probably!).
(3) She'd go missing every time I went to stay at my grandparents. Eventually, my mother worked the pattern out... and I was banned from staying at my grandparents overnight because my parents were fed up of trawling the streets bellowing her name in the vague hope she'd wander up to them (she never did, funnily enough... she used to wander down to the local garage where my grandfather worked and sit there looking angry until someone recognised her and walked her home again or my parents got that far in their search for her). I wasn't told why I was banned from staying with my grandparents, though, until years later when she was dead. For years, I thought that I'd done something wrong and that was why I couldn't go there anymore.
(4) She ate my 5th birthday cake. It was one of the 1970s Dougal from The Magic Roundabout cakes, which my mother had actually bought from the local bakery, and I was so excited about my friends seeing/eating it at my party... except there was no cake, because it was in my dog's belly.
(5) Terrified some of my friends at my 18th birthday party because she'd decided to hide from her pups under the dining table where my parents had set out the buffet and take a nap. She was quite elderly and very deaf at this point, and did that weird snoring thing where she'd be really audible... and then not. They thought she'd died and didn't know what to do/who to tell. Eventually one of the lads found me and broke the news that it was possible my dog was dead, I went running in and she'd woken up and decided to help herself to the sausage rolls and a sandwich which someone had dropped as she'd emerged from her deathbed. She looked quite bemused by the fact that the girls in the room were crying in relief that she wasn't dead...
She died when I was 18. A few months after my party, in fact. That was 21 years ago now, and I still miss her and her crotchety little ways.
When I was 18, I also had a hamster who refused to sleep in his cage, would escape every night and drop onto my bed (which was a mattress on the floor) when he thought everyone was asleep... always landing on my boyfriend's face. Usually my boyfriend at the time was asleep... on his back... with his mouth open. And my hamster had balls the size of gobstoppers... which always landed in the boyfriend's open mouth. My hamster would then head for the crook of my neck, where he'd curl up and go to sleep.
When we went on holiday, the same hamster was being looked after by my older brother. Who didn't believe me when I said that he escaped his cage and threw himself off the table and onto my bed. The first night we were away, my hamster escaped... hamster-sailed onto the bed... and was so pissed off that I wasn't there that he decided to make his home for the next fortnight in my wardrobe, which I'd stupidly left ajar. Where he chewed holes in my clothes to get his own back that I'd gone abroad with the boyfriend whom he tea-bagged regularly, only venturing out in the dead of night to eat the food my brother and his girlfriend left in a trail leading to his cage in the hopes of catching him, before returning to destroy more of my clothes. When I returned and walked into my bedroom, as soon as he heard my voice he came scuttling out of my wardrobe with bits of one of my dresses in his cheek pouches. He then spat them out onto my hand as if to say “fuck you!”.
Moving forwards into the present, my current dog's acts of dickish behaviour are too many to mention (he's very fortunate that he's such a sweetheart, really... even with his determined campaign that Dead Squirrel Throwing should be an Olympic sport, and his ability to find and roll in fox pee wherever we go. Repeatedly.), but my rooster...?! Today's acts of Rooster Dickish Behaviour are as follows:-
(1) Woke me up at 0521, crowing, because he wanted to come inside the house and have cuddles. I don't like him disturbing the neighbours (who, in fairness, have been pretty tolerant) so when he crows and wakes me up... I go haring out to fetch him inside for a bit. Which he's cottoned onto. And quite likes. He gets to sit on my lap and tuck his head under my neck and... well... snuggle. I meanwhile, am usually wondering where precisely I lost my sanity and if there's any chance of getting it back!
(2) Hopped onto my desk when I was trying to read Mumsnet and check FB and started pecking my keyboard. He changed my screen settings, put the capslock on, opened a word file... and typed “rweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee1”. It took me two hours to sort everything out again.
(3) Shat down my back, whilst crowing very loudly into my ear when I eventually got him off my desk again.
The rooster's other dickish move is not being the hen he was purchased as. He's extremely lucky that we didn't already have a rooster...