Therpuppy.

I own a couple of "doggos" as my kids would say.

The only thing is, they aren't exactly emotional support dogs.

I think they are the ones who put me in therapy.

I know they have taken years off my life.

Their countless escape attempts have me thinking they have watched, and actively studied Shawshank Redemption one too many times.

Neither of their names is Andy, just to be clear.

They are actually both females.

Their story is more like Orange is the New Black.

I have found myself running around the streets of my neighborhood more than once.

Did I mention I live on a busy street?

Yeah, it also is known as Heart Attack Central Blvd, or at least I am petitioning the town to rename it as such.

Did I also mention I now smell like Eau Du Salami to get them back?

I should actually bottle it.

Anyone know a perfumery I can contact?

I am open to suggestions.

This could be a hit people.

And yet, I look at them while they are sleeping and think, awe, they are so cute I should get another one...

Until they are awake.

Then I think, I should have gotten cats.

Until I remember, duh, I hate cats.

But then again I wonder if I hate dogs.

Nope never.

I have just come to the conclusion that my emotional support dogs just need to get jobs to support my therapy bills.

Circle of life?

Yep.

They think they have it bad, and can find something better.

I on more than one occasion, think I acquired a couple of lemons.

And guess what?

We are all idiots.

We are all living the good life.

I have the buffet of cold cuts to prove it.

No one in this house is going anywhere, anytime soon.

Except me.

To therapy.

BRB.

Xoxo,

C.