Not sure how long I can manage tho. I went shopping after work and found this really cute toy. It's sorta in the shape of a bunny and is a really pretty turquoise color. The Mutt didn't have any turquoise toys, and I figure he needed one. I squeeze the toy and it makes a really odd duck call sounding squeal. The Mutt didn't have any duck-call toys so I had to get it. Well what was I supposed to do? I bring it home, release the critter from the bedroom (he stays in my room because if he doesn't he sometimes thinks it's ok to pee on the livingroom floor - god bless the street dog) and give him his new toy. Two minutes later, as the dog's ripping around the house squeaking that goddamn annoying blasted fucking toy, I wonder why I ever got the damn thing for the obnoxious little shit. Thirty minutes later while I'm trying to eat a cheese enchilada in peace and the dog's laying on the floor squeaking that goddamn annoying blasted fucking toy, I wonder what the fuck I was thinking giving the damn thing to the obnoxious little shit. As I sit here an hour later typing minding my own business, the dog laying on the floor pretending to sleep while every once in awhile reminding me he's here and he has a new toy with a squeak, I wonder if it would alleviate my suffering if I beat the obnoxious little shit and tore the squeaker out of the goddamn annoying blasted fucking toy.
It makes it all worthwhile to see the stupid grin on his unacceptably adorable little furry face when he gets a new toy. This fact alone is probably the only thing that's saving his little ass right now.