I live with two dogs. You need to meet them.
This is Dog Number One. His name is Mitch. He’s a pug. He’s like 11 or 12 or something that qualifies him as a senior citizen. (We’ve applied for his AARP card.) He’s blind and deaf. His right eye is cloudy and goopy; his left eye is currently red and bloody–we think he walked into a corner. Getting Mitch’s attention is tricky. It involves a lot of clapping as you near him, and then letting him smell your hands so he knows you’re safe. He grunts and coughs in his sleep, and he gets bouncy with excitement when he realizes who you are.
This is Dog Number Two. His name is Weasley. He’s a Yorkie Poo. He’s so cute it’s distracting. Like, I spend quality time just staring at him as though he’s my child. In the mornings, he jumps on my bed and climbs all the way up to my face and paws at me till I wake up. He spins in circles when it’s time to go on a walk, causing his leash to get tangled in his legs. And then he stumbles like he’s drunk while the dizziness wears off. He also licks Mitch’s goopy eye, gives hi fives, cuddles well, and farts mid-air when jumping on my bed. He answers to Weezer, Weas, and Idiot. He’s special.