Thursday night haiku.

Couch. Sofa, so soft.
I should exercise more, yes?
No. Couch! Couch, couch, couch.

Yeah, I don’t know either. Here’s another pet picture. This one is Miniature Schnauzer, Confused.

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Yes, he’s on the cat perch. This dog ain’t right.

Who’s a good doggie?

Before getting Iggy the Wonder Schnauzer from a nearby rescue, I considered going to a breeder. I know, I know — why would anyone do that when there are so many animals looking for homes?

Well, for starters, you have a good idea of what you’re getting before you let the animal in your house.

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See, at a rescue, all you have to go on is how the dog acts right there and then. A reputable breeder, on the other hand, would have lived with the dog, and would have records going back several generations. We could have said, “Hello, Breeder! We would like a dog that will grow up to be calm, intelligent, not likely to morph into a pan-dimensional hellhound, and maybe not too barky, thank you,” and that’s what we’d get. Instead, we have Iggy — a dog that needs constant supervision, tons of mental stimulation, and a priest.

But you want to know the scariest part? Look at the picture again. My husband is petting this thing.

Fuck.