Justin has been a real punk lately. Not in the “you don’t appreciate me,” sense–it’s more: “you’re supposed to be the voice of reason in this relationship!”
In the last 4 days, he has tagged me in about 6 Facebook posts about dogs needing to be rehomed; two of those dogs are boxers! And Sunday my neighbor called and asked me to please adopt their boxer.
Wait, only yesterday I was in tears about how I have too much on my plate!
BUT THEY’RE BOXERS!!!
I have a real soft spot in my heart for those big dopey schmoopy faces. They are underbite and muscles and drool and trouble. And I love them all.
Where is my boxer farm already, Mr Steeves?!
In the meantime, I have to stay strong and resist all temptations to adopt all unwanted dogs in the Kentuckiana region. I want them all. But, I have to be my own voice of reason and tell myself, “no, Sam. You can’t–”
“But what if I quit my job!?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I know. But–”
“No.”
Fine. Grant me the strength I need to not adopt three more giant trouble making smooshy faces.
I won’t do it. But I sure do want to.
I have to work. To save up. For my boxer farm. Or, mostly my home for old grouchy dogs who just want to take naps.
