“I WANT A DOG,” she said, which I interpreted as the start to a grown-up discussion about the merits of canine companionship, practicalities of pet care, and value of a guardian of hearth and home. As it turned out, it was an iron-clad, Kevlar-lined, all-in-caps COMMAND.
I promised to speak in complete sentences, remember her mother’s birthday, shower regularly, but no amount of cajoling would sway her. I thought: “She doesn’t want a dog, she wants a down comforter,” but knew better than to say it out loud. In the future, the cuddling offered would be done with her soft new fur baby, whose eyes were fixed adoringly on Her Majesty.
As consolation, I could pick the usurper. Which I did, spotting the ugliest manifestation of canine form ever to…