I don’t suppose I can effectively discuss my life without discussing the most important male in it: My dog, Max. Look. Look at this face.
Part Ewok, part Chewbacca, part Mogwai, all adorable. My ex and I bought him as a tiny puppy sitting there in his little cage, the last left of his litter. At the time, we had a golden retriever named Penny, who wanted absolutely nothing to do with this new 1-1/2 pound fluffball that wanted to climb on her. But soon Penny warmed up to Max, and thus began a beautiful friendship that lasted for 5 years, when it was time for Miss Penny to move on to the doggie kennel in the sky. Whenever I talk about Penny, his little ears perk up and he looks around, almost like he’s expecting her to come running in the room so he could spend some time trying to dry hump her. He may be small, but he’s a horny little guy. Picture a 20-pound dog trying to hump a 100-pound retriever. I remember Penny would just sit there and look at me, like “Bitch, please get this little bastard off me.”. Too bad I never got that on video.
These days, Max mostly plays, eats real chicken which I cook for him weekly, goes on walks, and pretty much gets spoiled rotten. He doesn’t seem to mind it. However, he does mind when I try to kiss him, and he growls at me, almost saying, “Moooo-ooom, stop that, I’m a big boy now!”, and it makes me laugh. One time he actually did almost bite my face off when this happened, but I overlook it, because seriously… That face.
Can’t argue with that, folks.