Missing furry friends

The other night, when I couldn’t sleep, I started really missing Clive. It was the exact situation where he would run up to me and start licking my nose, being goofy and making me laugh. I’ve always had pets, I can’t imagine living without some sweet fuzzy thing to play with and take care of.

And then I started thinking about all the things I could do with a weiner dog, how it could sleep on my bed watching videos with me, where it’s food dish would be, how I could rub it’s wet little nose on my nose, going for walks, sharing ice cream. I was having a total dog owner fantasy, the likes of which I haven’t had since I was a kid, pestering my mother for two solid years to let me get a dog.

I was a persistent person. I’d read “Old Yeller” and “Where the Red Fern Grows” and something about boy adventures with their best furry pals made me yearn for a fellow of my own to romp with. Never mind that the dogs always died at the end of the stories. I mean, they weren’t rats, they wouldn’t die in three years. So I thought.

Either way, having a dog is more responsibility (and more fun!) than having a rat. And since my biological clock’s ticking, giving it an outlet by having a little puppy around to raise and teach good dog manners seems the best option.

But I still don’t have a job, eBay didn’t get back to me. My next application is at 1-800-U-Got-Junk. If I land the job I’ll be able to have a pup!

Puppy puppy puppy.

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