My father came to Houston for medical test earlier this month, along with him came "Joe the terrible" the long legged thief of a dog.
Now I used to be "nasty nice" but have grown less so since having my girls come live with me. I no longer get irrate or nauseous when I get a hair in my mouth. But I'll be damn if my dogs are going to put their muddy, nasty paws on my kitchen table and counters. Joe, on the otherhand, makes himself at home.
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