Memoirs Of J

Wiener dogs suck.

I’m so sick of going into the dining room, pulling my chair out to sit down to eat, and finding a pile of dog sausages in the corner.  It’s that damned Zoe.  She’s so afraid and needy that she won’t even go to the door when she’s got to shit.  She’ll just go squeeze out a few tootsies in the corner when we’re busy with something and not paying attention.

Shit on the floor is bad enough, but now we have a curious toddler exploring every nook and cranny of the house and I am going to be really pissed off if she finds and brings me a turd.  I’ll be even more pissed off if she tastes a turd.  Then we’re going to have a dead dog on our hands…

And Zeus isn’t innocent in all this, oh no sir.  I think the shitting on the dining room floor was his idea, and he’s been caught in the act in the past.  Not to mention his leg-lifting problem, thus the need to wear a doggie diaper in the house because I will not  be one of those people with a piss-soaked smelling house.

And people are always incredulously asking me why I am a cat person… hmm I wonder.