I have a dog. She's a Pug. Her name's Zoey. Super cute, super fat and a sweetheart. She sees me and gets all excited, wagging her little tail in anticipation of acknowledgement. She brings me toys to play with her, cuddles with me at night and is relatively a really good dog.
The thing is, I can't stand owning a dog. There. I said it.
My apartment is fantastic: hardwood floors, bay views and original molding. I even have the original fireplace (sadly not working) in my bedroom. But unfortunately my apartment is covered in dog hair. So are most of my clothes. It's everywhere. You know that crappy tinsel stuff at Christmas? The stuff that just NEVER seems to disappear long after the tree has been thrown on the street for the garbage man to pick up? Yea, dog hair is like that stuff. I vacuum weekly and de-hair daily but it doesn't make a difference.
I got Zoey because The Ex had a Pug as well. We were playing house, the whole White Picket Fence game and we got Zoey to keep Merlin company while The Ex and I were at work during the day. You should have seen us. Actually, I'm somewhat impressed with my domestication skills at this time. So anyways, The Ex and I broke up AFTER moving to San Francisco where yards are unheard of. Crap.
So now I'm stuck with her. If Zoey was my child, she'd be in therapy for my blatant lack of love.