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This new puppy is ruining my life, and greatly contributing to my future as an alcoholic. My brother called to check in on things last night and I vented my frustrations.

“Ben this dog is so wild. I am not sure I can handle her.”

“Yes, Sarah, you can. You’re just not used to puppies. Daisy was never a real puppy, she was more like an aging butch lesbian when you adopted her.”

“I guess… I just can’t deal with wild.”

“Her namesake was probably just as wild in her youth. You probably jinxed the dog by naming her after Rosie.”

“Not possible. Did Human Rosie eat boxes?”

“I can’t say for sure.”

“What about underwear? Do you think human Rosie chewed on those?”

“Without a doubt… I also expect your dog to fall in love with Frank Sinatra and pick up a nasty smoking habit any day now.”

I hung up with Ben and walked outside to find that Rosie has dragged all my purses into the backyard. I ran back inside to see what other damage she had done and found this:

I think it’s safe to say the bitch will live another day. I’m a sucker for cute.

Rosie Finlinson has a serious shoe fetish, or maybe it’s a thong fetish… either way it’s ruining my goddamn life. Luckily she doesn’t chew on them, but instead she drags them into the backyard.

I hate it, but I’m way too lazy to find a new place for my shoes to live. It’s easier to just try and pawn her off on anyone who will take her.

Seriously.

Yesterday the guy roofing my house was playing with her in the backyard. I use the term play loosely. What I really mean is that Rosie ran circles around him as he cleaned up.

“She’s so cute. Do you know where I could get a pug?”

“I do. You can have this crazy bitch right now.”

He laughed, but didn’t take her home. Who’s the crazy bitch now? Oh right, me. The one who decided a second dog was a good idea.