Dogs are gross

I should have known it was a bad omen to talk to that lady about Balto, it’s bad luck to talk about famous dogs. It’s also suspicious that I would find my friend Camille Johnson, now Stansfield or something, on Facebook and I would think of her and the time we once dog-sat in Park City one summer. This all should have forewarned me of what was to come. My roomie Patricia and her boyfriend Greg left yesterday evening leaving me to think I would have the apartment to myself to watch whatever I wanted. They returned shortly, which didn’t bother me because I like them and I get bored here alone. They left as two and returned as three. With a pug named pug, how original. The only dog we had growing up lived outside because dogs don’t belong inside. This dog was walking around my apartment, the same one I walk around in, and in bare feet (not anymore-I’ll have to mop now). It wasn’t a big deal until it tried to jump up onto the couch. Yuk. They put it in it’s, cage thing, thank goodness. They put the cage in the front room and went in the bedroom. So as I tried to watch my show the dog snored, louder than any of my brothers. I don’t know if the dog was farting or what, but every now and then I would get a whiff of some vile doggish smell. It really wasn’t a bad evening, I just wonder if I’ll get a check for dog-sitting.