Finnegan got me up at 1am, 3:30am, and 5am.
Did he have to pee? Nope. Poop? Nope. Did he want to cuddle? Nope. He made these agonized I’m-having-an-emergency noises three times because he wanted to play.
I say “play” and you think “Oh how adorable.” No. Not adorable. All he wanted to do was bite at my ankles and attack my toes. Super fun game in the pitch dark while trying to stay coherent enough not to fall into the coffee table.
So, I can only conclude one thing: my darling puppy is a self involved little dictator bent on world domination. Crap. Finn is a terrorist.
Oh Lord, I’m one of those pathetic women who love a terrorist. I already make excuses for Finn: “He’s just so cute!” and “I know he loves me, but…” and “I know he destroys anything he can, but that doesn’t mean he destroys everything!”
Thank God I already had a doggie-daycare appointment set up for today! Though I had intended to use the time to puppy-proof my apartment (finally!), I may have to devote some time to a lengthy nap.
So here I am, treating myself to a Winstead’s breakfast enjoying the fact that I have shoes on the floor and they’re not in any danger of being obliterated, hoping that doggie-day care is really just a pseudonym for a re-education plan for pets with a Napoleon Complex.
Now, I’m searching for support groups for women who think they own right-wing extremist dachshund. NSA, eat your heart out.