Go Fetch Yourself

Let her cry.
It's Friday.

When they're on foot they're 'developmentally delayed.'
But it's still a handicapped bus...

Christmas has been over for some time now.
You...have taken the tags off of your jeans by now, I assume.
If you're still walking around with one of those length x width stickers on your pantleg, it's not funny anymore.
It's just another reason not to invite you places.

It'd be nice to have a dog.
You can really tell yourself that your depression is misguided when you have someone who's so excited to see you.
That's probably all I would do with my dog; leave it and return again.
Over and over on a Friday.
Really maximize that companionship.
Of course, knowing my luck, my dog would get sick of me.
'Man's best friend' would eventually become 'man's occasional acquaintance'.
Eventually I would get excited and run around a lot when he'd get back from walks.
Which he would eventually prefer to take by himself.
I'd offer him treats and he'd just look at me blankly.
Then, to seem confident, I'd act like I wanted the treat myself.
Wash it down with some of his water.
If I get a dog I want a big dog.
If, however, I elect to not get a pet with larger poops than my own, I'll get a small dog.
And I already know the breed.
My brother used to always accuse me of 'copying' him.
Like it mattered; I was eight.
Who was going to steal Brian's trendy ideas in grade two?
Blaire Barrett?
Exactly.
Who's Blaire Barrett?

Brian owns Mi-Kis.
Two of them.
They look like an old-school Asian dog.
But they have a real North American laziness to them.
They used to call little crackies like these 'lap dogs.'
Because they'd chill on your laps.
Mi-Kis are kind of like 'nap dogs.'
I'll let you figure out the rest.
They behave as though they're hungover every day.
They sleep for hours on end, their eyes are all squinty.
They frequently look disoriented and confused.
That's a good match.

Well, that's it for me.
I'm going to watch some more of channel 6.
See if the ad about the hockey pool comes up again.
Alright Hootie, you know what to do.
Or, at least, you did between 1992 and 1995.