Blogged in the Year of Lord-Only-Knows
My Brother, The Soldier

Don't Get a Dog, Unless You Want Mine!

There's a great conversation going on at my friend Melisa's blog (a.k.a. the newly revamped questioning whether or not parents should get a dog for their kids, even though, you know, they really, really don't want one?!?

For those of you who have visited here before and been reading along (glutton for punishment, eh?) ya'll know, already (or, is it y'all, I forget?) my husband, Garth (not his real name) and I have this love/hate relationship with Doofus-Dawg.

Although, for Garth (NHRN) if the dog lives to see another day, he's lucky.

FOR EXAMPLE:  We hosted Easter dinner for both sets of grandparents and, once they left, we were enjoying a lovely glass of port, with my SIL (I know, sounds so oh-la-la, but, heck my SIL bought it back from SoCal and, well, I'd be happy to share some with you, but it's ALL gone now) when...BLAM!...something in the house fell, HARD!

Garth (NHRN) ran to the playroom/laundry room, thinking one of the kids MUST have taken a header.

I thought it was the ceiling (stupid rain!)

My SIL said it came from the kitchen.

[eyes go WIDE]


MORALE OF THE STORY:  If you are considering getting a dog, I suggest a hairless breed, no higher than your shin, when standing on its hind legs.

Or, you could always borrow one, then send it home and blame the parents when it does something really, really bad.

Even better, take my dog...instead...PUH-LEEZE!!!

Aaaaand, for the love of meat remember to put away your Easter ham!!!

[blank stare]

My story doesn't help your decision any, I know, and I'm really sorry about that, truly I am.

THE UPSIDE, HOWEVER:  This blog post is NOT about my kids.

You're welcome!

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