We have a dog – Bowler – and he is a saint. He’s affectionate, a quick learner and has a primordial understanding of why he should pee on the pads we bought for that purpose, rather than our floors. At the age of one, he went completely blind (but handled it like a champ). We decided to get him a pal – same breed, obviously, because Bowler deserved that same level of wonderfulness. So we got Bjørn. Who turned out to be the Ted Bundy of Frenchies.
Bjørn ate his pee-pads (annoying), secretly desecrated our beds (devious) and his go-to act of defiance was not barking or running away but auto-pooping and then eating it, his beautiful greenish eyes locked into mine, brimming with triumph (psychopath). Oh, and he peed on Bowler whenever he could (unacceptable). While I wasn’t cleaning dog shit off my bed I was wondering if Bowler hated us or, worse, his entire life now (devastating).
