I want a dog too...in theory.
I just want a dog that doesn't smell like a dog, make messes like a dog, pee on the carpet like a dog, chew on things like a dog, make me take it for walks in the winter...like a dog. What are you left with? A cat. Well, we already have two of those sooooo. Where does that leave us?
Michael found this adorable black lab on Craig's List named Oliver. The owners have to find another place for him to live...and he comes with all of his things. They want to be able to come and see where he will be living and be updated on his progress. So it doesn't sound to me like they are getting rid of him because he is a bad dog. Of course in the post he is just staring up with his cute little face. Love me. Play with me. Feed me. I can just hear him. I SO want to be the cool wife that just throws caution to the wind and says, "Go for it, honey. Sounds like a great idea."
Not that Michael needs my permission to get the dog, but obviously he really wants me to be happy about it too...and I really want to be.
Fatty and Skinny are like dogs in cat suits. They are not typical cats that just lope around and mind their own business. They want to be on you like white on rice. They follow us around the house and beg to have their bellies rubbed. Pathetic. When we brought Henry home from the hospital Fatty started getting bald spots all over his stomach. He is now almost completely bald on his stomach and has been diagnosed with a condition called, "neurotic grooming." He was so upset by our new addition that all he could do was sit and chew on his stomach. When we got up one morning and found a pile of his puke in the middle of the kitchen table we knew he was crying out for help, on the verge of a cat nervous breakdown.
He is just starting to get semi-back to normal. If we brought a dog home...I shudder to think. I just keep picturing him throwing himself into the wall, repeatedly. Like a mentally otherwise-abled cat.
Fatty...teets to the wind
Sorry Oliver, there's no room at the inn.