Methinks thou dost protest too much

March 8, 2011

Tell me again, Mickey, all about how Shooter is not your dog. Better yet, tell him. He’s the one who’s been parked on the coffee table, staring out the window since you left. I can’t distract him, Slevin can’t distract him. He watched you drive away and he’s maintained his post like a good soldier ever since. I really didn’t need this current example of his fidelity to know that he adores you. Cartoon hearts float out of his eyes when he scrambles between us in bed and lays his pointy head on your chest. And for pity’s sake, he TALKS to you. But staring out the window for almost an hour in anticipation of your return just about caps anything I’ve ever seen. It’s reminiscent of Greyfriar’s Bobby, except he’s not a Skye Terrier and you’re not dead.

I know you wanted a Basset Hound. And, yes, I know you’d rather lay claim to a really good dog like Slevin. But it is what it is, Sweetheart. That little, undisciplined, yarking, pooping, nipping, furniture-eating, shoe-destroying Beagle/Heeler hound from hell has laid claim to you and he’s not to be dissuaded.

So please, tell me again how he’s not your dog, but I don’t think I’ll believe it any more than Shooter does.


7 Responses to “Methinks thou dost protest too much”

  1. Jane Jackson Says:

    Hahahahaha….. ❤

  2. Wendy Says:

    Too funny! 😉

  3. Joyce Winterton Says:

    Thanks. I need something good to read.

  4. Mickey Mills Says:

    I promise you.

    When the dog poops on the carpet… he’s yours!

  5. TRISH Says:


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