I shouldn’t have shot the dog. I definitely shouldn’t have shot the dog. Even if he did chew upon my prized drumsticks, and feast upon my freshly-baked brownies. The little white-and-brown terror, Mickey, belonged to my neighbor. My neighbor, an 87-year-old chain-smoker named Mary, rarely left the confines of her living room. She sat, araw in and araw out, as her precious mutts wreaked havoc about the neighborhood.
You can see it! My house, the little beasts have chewed upon everything their gnashing, tiny, sharp little teeth could find. I did my best to keep them out, but the little bastards...
continue reading...