THE DARK SIDE OF DOGGIE DAYCARE
I keep telling Liana that if there is a Heaven, it's not for us. It's for Marz.
Unlike Marz, I am too old and prejudiced to get excited about much. I'm not saying I'm prejudiced against people (unless it's Michael "Mike" Blair of Spectrum), nor am I close-minded, but rather I am deep-seated in preferences and rarely go outside my comfort zone unless it's to scream over a full bar at a self-described pirate who is trying to engage me in his retarded skylarkings.
For example, bartenders are always offering me delicious drinks that aren't Bushmills Irish Whiskey on the rocks. Yet I am so old and decrepit I can only imagine the pesticide damage a series of fresh, fruity drinks will do to my struggling liver.
Not Marz. He will try absolutely anything with an energy that's almost unbelievable. I gave him a celery stick - one of the most loathed things by every single one of my dogs. He TRIED to eat it. He chewed it repeatedly, spit it out, and looked up at me as if there was some kind of mistake. And when he figured out that celery was inedible, he batted the stringy remains around the shop floor joyfully for about half an hour.
He loves just about everything. He's happy only to be with you. He's eating his life voraciously and without prejudice. And I love the little beast immensely for it.
So get yourself a cup of hot chocolate or a six-pack of foamy Colt 45 from The Dump and click on "Earnest Rugby Dog" by Marzipan Fin Tin Limb Bin Bus Stop F'tang F'tang Olay Biscuit Barrel Kingsbury.
Yes. That's his full name...
~~ Don (Not a Dog)
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