“Where are we going?” I know that is what she is thinking. Or is it “Did you see that bird?” Either way, it doesn’t matter much.
As my wife, the one that wanted the dog, sits at home, this is what my drives look like quite often. I suspect that I have been had. Hornswoggled. I didn’t want a dog, yet I have one.
Oh, she grows on you though. She knows I will feed her scraps, especially bread, and she knows when I descend to the man cave to smoke some shisha that she is going to get some duck jerky.
Why is it that dog haters can be sucked in by the same youthful exhuberance that we can’t stand about the animals. Want to go on vacation? Nope, the dog will be home alone. Hell, we could have left the cat with a big bowl of food, water and a litter box and gone on a cruise. Not the dog. I’ve even come home for half of our yearly vacation to take care of her. Of course, the official reason is that I have to work.
I will never openly admit that I like this dog. That would be like admitting I could be wrong, and that ain’t happening.
I will, however, make the observation that there are more pictures of the dog on my phone than any other single being.