The dog house
The problem with this, is my hubby hates all animals. Yes,*shudder*, he is one of those. He grew up on a farm, so unless an animal serves a purpose, i.e. you can eat it, he thinks all animals are wastes of oxygen. How I managed to marry him, knowing this, is beyond me. (Must have had something to do with me being pregnant with our second child at the time, and my father's angry looks.)
But to pacify me, because he loves me so, the hubs has relented. He granted me permission. Or at least, that's what he likes to think. The reality is, I have already talked to a breeder, placed an order and am waiting for the birth of my couch cuddler. All the while, I have been whispering sweet doggy love thoughts into his ear as he sleeps the day away. The perils of working at night, and being home alone, sleeping all day, unprotected from your bored wife.
I digress. To prove my doggie devotion, I have offered to puppy-sit this week for my brother and his woman, while they travel to far away places to spread the sweet melodic tunes of his death metal band. My mother is so proud. I'm am the proud aunty/sitter for a soon to be over-grown, speckled, white german shepard/husky cross, named Pink Meat.
What I didn't anticipate is the constant whining, scratching, puking and potty accidents of a puppy. Yes, I know, dear internet, it is a puppy. But it is not my puppy. There is a difference. I will love my puppy no matter what. This puppy, I have to give back. Why get attached? And, if it pee's on my floor one more time when the kids come into the room, I am going to make the damn puppy clean it up.
Meanwhile, my husband is grinning like some cat with a canary in it's mouth, and muttering something about "I told you so, worthless mutt...." I wonder, who is he referring to? Me or Pink?