The Dog

I never had a dog growing up. I was always told it was because my dad was "allergic" to them. Come to find out, it was really the thought of dogs that made him "allergic." We could have had a dog any time we wanted to growing up. Assuming we could have convinced my dad. So, when I grew up, got married and moved out, what was one of the first things I did? I got a dog. Having done only a little bit of research, I knew I wanted one that didn't shed. I also thought I wanted a small dog, to keep me company when hubby was away, and because I figured they ate less, therefore pooping less. Its all logical really. Because I wanted the dog, and I wanted the small dog, and I picked out the dog, as well as trained the dog, fed the dog, walked the dog, and cleaned up after the dog, I figured she was my dog, right? We had the dog for a total of 6 days before hubby had to leave for training out in CA, so I figured with that much alone time, we would have really bonded. So, I ask again, whose dog is she? Hubby's. Again, its all logical, right?!?!?! I don't know what it is about it. Maybe its because I don't let her lick my face, like he does. Maybe it is because I don't let her chew on my fingers, like he does. Maybe it is because I wouldn't let her sleep on the bed, like he does.

Note, she is in the masters spot. The other night, she actually slept under the covers (on his side). All. Night. Long. Completely under the covers. Head and everything. Nothing poking out to take a clean breath of fresh air every now and then. I would imagine it was hot and stifling.

However, whenever something needs to be cleaned up, she goes back to being my dog.