A dog barking at thunder: no greater courage.
As I was stumbling in the night to get the the washroom, I felt my dog brush against my leg. But then I heard my dog barking upstairs at something else.
The sound of the growling dog pulled me from a deep slumber. I don’t own a dog.
While lying in bed trying to go to sleep, I heard my dog scratching my bedroom door. As I got up to let her in, I found her sleeping at the side of the bed.
The thing looked strange, it’s teeth all crinkly and eyes crazy like they were cut out and pasted back in by that fat kid that sat behind you in third grade and wheezed all the time. The description read “Last known Maori kuri – collected 1876 Catlins, New Zealand” and you didn’t even know that there were such things as Maori dogs and now you find out that they are all extinct and you Google it and find out that Hawaiian poi dogs are also extinct and you wish that instead of dogs that all red headed fat kids were extinct.
Bereft of peace, I couldn’t bear the agony of watching my poor doggie’s last moments of life. I turned away, covering my eyes, as the injection went in.
I swear it is the last time.
Don’t fret, my little ochre space-dog.
Dog on my left and dog on my right.
Dogs all around me.
Um … yes, putting a dog down because you were bored of it is soulless.
My desire to sleep with her kept this thought quiet.
I can’t go out today.
I ran out of flying-dog spray.
Rachel couldn’t stand the sound of her husband’s snoring every night, and even worse the questions he asked each time she would tell him about it; “Does it sound like this?” he would ask. Months later they adopted a dog, Morty, and Morty snored eactly like Rachel’s husband – “There you go, it sounds just like that!”
I don’t know what is wrong with robot dog.
Perhaps we should stop calling him botty.
I met a marketing girl today.
Hollow she was, and as deep as the dog’s water dish.
Chocolate dog fetches his caramel ball.
And he is happy.
I commanded my dog to sit, and he did.
I made a dog out of bones.
He keeps trying to bury himself.
I folded and glued and painted and prepared ever so carefully.
Now I wait for my paper dog to come to life.
My dog is made of tennis balls.
He keeps trying to fetch himself.
Phoebe – a small dog who wasn’t known for her jumping abilities – wasn’t allowed on the furniture but after begging every night, her female owner finally said, “OK, Phoebe, if you can make it onto the bed by yourself, then I’ll let you stay up here.” Moments later Phoebe used all her might and jumped on the bed; her female owner turned to her husband and said, “See, I told you she speaks English.”
You know she is the one for me so you’re just going to have to get over it.
I don’t care little dog – she is staying!