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Saturday night Chris and I went to a friend’s house for the evening, where he regaled us with Rosie Finlinson stories.

She’s absolutely the worst dog at night; if she’s on the floor she wants in bed with us. If she’s in bed with us, she wants us awake and does everything she can to make it happen.

In hopes of getting our friends to truly understand what we deal with each night, we act out the scene.

You really have to watch this video to feel our pain.

It’s no secret Asshole Puppy is an asshole, but is she also a wino? Her latest trick is pulling wine corks out of the trash and wandering around the house with them hanging out of her mouth like a baby pacifier.

This is incredibly infuriating because why in the hell have I never thought do do that? And more importantly, does this mean I’ve been outsmarted by a pug?

DO NOT ANSWER THAT QUESTION.

Tonight when I got home from work I found Rosie Finlinson waiting patiently for me… ON THE DAMN COUNTER.

I don’t get it. This is the dog who couldn’t figure out how to breathe through her mouth when her nose was stuffed, yet she can manage this stunt. I wonder if it’s too late to take her back and adopt a fish instead.

1) Bribe a male friend to help.

2) Overlook said friend’s childish (and totally awesome!) alterations to the instructions.

3) Contain annoying puppy in safe spot to avoid possible injury.

4) Drink copious amounts of wine.

5) Unpack beloved books and display.

I don’t know what Rosie Finlinson has against Justin Bieber, but I approve.

Saturday almost cracked me. First the ordeal with Daisy and then Rosie Finlinson’s trip to doggy ER, but somehow I managed to find a silver lining, which you can read in this week’s “That’s What She Said.”

Do you remember the Mr. Men and Little Miss books from the 80s? I loved them! My mother would refer to me as Little Miss Bossy, Little Miss Trouble, Little Miss Stubborn, Little Miss Bad or Little Miss Naughty depending on my mood and behavior. Not once did she call me Little Miss Helpful, Little Miss Neat, Little Miss Sunshine or Little Miss Splendid.

I think it’s safe to assume my mom was calling me Little Miss Asshole, behind my back.

Since then, I’ve often describe my moods with the book characters. And now, for the first time ever, Little Miss Scatterbrain has surfaced. Bitch. Wait… did I just call the character a bitch or myself a bitch? Both are accurate, I suppose.

Lately I am so all over the place. Sure everyone is scattered now and then. How many of us misplace our keys on a daily basis? Me. And probably you. That’s normal and not at all what I’m dealing with. I’m forgetting important life details. Like how many eyes my puppy has.

TRUE STORY.

I’ve been accidentally kenneling the wrong dog. The first few times I was convinced someone was breaking into my house and switching dogs just to fuck with me.

Because, seriously, the difference is obvious:

I’m hoping Little Miss Scatterbrain moves along soon. Otherwise I’m going to end up Little Miss Drinks Herself Into a Coma. That’s a character, right? Well it should be.

Labor Day is a big deal in my country town. All the long lost children arrive at the town hall for a giant picnic and rodeo. This year my brother, Ben, and I even toured the town museum, which is really just a collection of court records and wedding invitations.

Among the pictures I found one of Human Rosie Finlinson and her husband:

Is it just me or does Dog Rosie Finlinson bear a strong resemblance?

They both look sweet and innocent in their pictures, which is so not the case. Human Rosie was playing nice for the camera, while Dog Rosie was drugged out of her mind post surgery. I wish Human Rosie were still alive so I could introduce them. She’d hate that I named a dog after her, but she’d secretly be pleased that she wasn’t the only wild animal in town.