Remember that “damn dog” I was complaining about mid-March? (See “Puppy Love = Tough Love“) That’d be my brother’s Labrador retriever. At the time, I expressed an unbearable amount of frustration towards an animal in the process of being trained. During that very long, lengthy, drawn-out process (which lasted for an extended amount of time), the dog seemed to be playing a game which strictly involved the ruin of my possessions and seemingly my entire life.
He succeeded in demolishing my thriving pre-garden greenhouse. He stole socks, underwear and slippers from my closet every time he had the chance. He’d jump up on me when he got excited (always) and bite my hands with his needle teeth whenever I tried to pet him. He especially loved rubbing his shedding body against my new couches and plopping his drool-laden bone on the cushions.
That damn dog!!
Just as I was about to sell him (or pay someone a healthy stash to take him away forever) and tell my brother some run-around “he ran away”