Oh Ye Of Little Faith...

Last week I received recommendations from both Steve America and Philly Paul (formerly known as Jersey Paul) that I not get a dog. The primary reasoning for this recommendation was that my dating life would be severely impacted. That very well may turn out to be true when it comes to sleep overs, but life is all about balance and harmony. Equilibrium is maintained by the fact that dogs, especially puppies, are just about the best chick magnet that a guy could have. Well, outside of a massive trouser-snake, and I can't find anyone that seems to sell those. So dog it is.

So how is all this relevant and what is the point of this post, you ask? Well, last night I went to Petsmart (By the way, are they going for Pet's Mart or Pet Smart?) to pick some things up for babygirl. I'm there looking at collars and I'm joined by a super cute German Sheperd pup, named Rascal. Rascal apparently enjoys belly rubs and pissing himself. So I meet Rascal's owner. In talking, we exchange names (we'll just call her Puppy Mama) and go figure, she just happens to be cute as a fucking button. I do not know if she also enjoys belly rubs. I hope so. Pissing herself is optional, but I kinda hope we can avoid that. Anywho, we chat a little more, and questions what kind of puppy I have. I tell her that I'll be picking up my Akita on Monday and that I'm so excited, I'm pretty sure a couple drops of pee came out. She suggests a play date for next weekend. I happily accept and we make tentative plans to get the kids together.

I think I'm going to like being a pet owner.