Before we had kids, we had dogs. Oh sure, I didn’t birth them from my womb, but they were our “babies” nonetheless. We cuddled and coddled them, talked to and slept with them. We celebrated their birthdays.
It was a good life.
I’m not saying it’s a bad life for them now. I mean, the poor souls are still fed 2x a day, get to sleep on couches, and are loved on… though mostly by children who have a strange way of showing their love for dogs.
But, you know, it’s not what it used to be. They know it. We know it. They know we know it.
And so after every time we clean their giant mounds of dog poop from the backyard – so that our kids can run through it without tracking filth back through the house or, you know, try to eat it- they choose a very special place to do their business.
I am certain, 100%, that this is their quiet, canine way of giving us the finger.
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