Our other kids

We have two dogs. One is a 100 pound Rottweiler named Ike. He is the most wonderful dog I’ve ever met. Smart, gentle, loyal, patient, loving, and reassuring when you’re home alone. Our other dog is a two year old terrier mix named Twister. He is everything Ike is not. Hyper, slightly stupid, a notorious bed hog and apparently immune to training. I firmly believe that putting up with Twister is how we are atoning for the perfection of Ike. There are days when I want to kill Twister. Like, say, this morning when I discovered a hole he chewed in the pillow top bed I love. I’m pretty sure I love that bed more than Twister. Like if someone held me at gun point and made me choose between giving them the bed or Twister I think I’d keep the bed. Although now the bed has a hole it. But still. I started out calling Twister the ugly red headed stepchild in our family. He’s since been downgraded to foster child. I prefer to think of him that way because it’s less permanent. Like maybe his real family is out there somewhere and someday he’ll return to their loving arms. Doesn’t make me a bad person.

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