When I say “Houseguest”, you may be thinking of that mid nineties movie staring Sinbad and Phil Hartman. That isn’t what I’m talking about. I’m talking about my dawg… well, my parent’s dawg, Dawson. He came and stayed with me for the weekend.
It was smooth sailing outside of the couple of instances where he refused to get into his doggie house. I felt like I was torturing him or something; it was kind of awful. However, I would really prefer that he be mad at me for 5 minutes for caging him than let him redecorate my house with stuffing from my couch cushions turning my tiny abode into his own little winter wonderland.
He thought the glasses were cool until I gave him a mirror. He barked out, “I’m not some hipster douche bag!"
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