There are dog people. There are non-dog people. And then...there are dog freaks. Yeah. C'est moi. This is my wee beastie:
She's so spoiled, I'm surprised she doesn't rot where she stands. She goes to water therapy once a week because she had hip surgery before she was a year old. And she's such a terrier. My aunt refers to the breed of dog she is as a "wild-haired terrorist," which, okay, was funnier before 9/11. Even her godmother calls her "demon spawn."
Yes, my dog has a godmother. Why?
Her name is Tuppence Marie. She was named after a British children's homily. In the story, a peddler asks a boy if he wants the ware he's buying "penny, plain" or "tuppence, colored." The boy chooses the plain as it's a better value for the money. This dog is definitely not penny plain.
I also refer to her as HRHTM. Yeah.
Anyway. She pretends she's tough to other dogs in the house. Roommate has a beagle, as does Roommate's mother, so she's often outnumbered. But strangely, she is never overwhelmed. I have described her and other terriers as big dogs in small clothes. She thinks she rules the world. Hideous little beast.
Yeah, yeah. I like her a little. Shut up.
In direct comparison is this sweet girl:
This sweet girl is my neighbor's dog. We've had the pleasure of babysitting her while mommy and daddy are out of town. Even when we had to make an emergency run to the vet because the sweet girl developed a UTI, she was so good.
Look! Doesn't she look like she's smiling?
We have to give her back in a couple of days. [siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh]
I'll be okay.