At first I thought somehow the little procedure you had to remove you from the gene pool had failed. My brain fused as it tried to cope with the possibility of twice the amount of cat poop being strewn throughout the house, twice the number of nose-to-butt violations daily, and twice the amount of def-con one volume barking to alert us to the invasion of the squirrels. Then I realized the small one was waaaaaaay too well-behaved to be real. Crisis averted.
Oh, I know, I haven’t been writing as much lately, so much so that I had convinced myself you were a normal dog. I was so fixed in this delusion, in fact, that I actually thought it was a good idea to ask a friend to dog-sit while Jay and I were away this weekend. I didn’t bat an eye when she offered to take you to her house, rather than come to feed you here. I admit to having a gnawing in my gut when I got off the plane in Seattle and had a text about you rolling down the car windows on the way to her house, but it was too late to change my mind at that point.
I am strangely curious as to how this happened, and at the same time repulsed by the fact that it did happen while you were at someone else’s house. I can only imagine the private little party going on in your head when you hopped up on Amy’s table, chugged a Coors Light and took a drag on the cigarette. I wonder if you were aware she would be in contact with me, and there would be photographic evidence of the event. Then again, I wonder if it would occur to you to care that this behavior was considered socially unacceptable.