I really love the idea of dogs. I usually find something cute about even the mangiest of them, and the thought of having this constant companion who cares about everything you say, wants to go wherever you want to go, appreciates your cooking so much he jumps onto the table to get it, and makes strangers baby-talk to him out of nowhere is pretty attractive to me.
When I’m actually around dogs, though, I’m reminded that they poop with abandon without ever offering to help clean up, force their pointy little heads into every available just-washed palm for petting, are so difficult to bathe that their owners rarely do it, and have no concept of the difference between Thanksgiving turkey and bird crap.
So watching this bit of face-licking go down through the lens of my camera on Christmas at my parents’ house gave me palpitations:
My sister’s beagle. My stepbrother’s baby. Endless nightmares.