For a while I have been my dog's only champion. He's pretty dumb considering his name is Einstein (which was not our choice, but I have accepted it as an homage to Back to the Future) and he isn't an inbred pure breed puppy mill product. He usually eats everything he can reach, which is a lot. Now he's been known to trot upstairs and crap in people's bedrooms. But still I loved him, defended him, and derailed my family's plans to send him to a farm.
And then today I went upstairs and I found something.
Next to my bed on the floor in the corner of my room, (placed there out of shame, I'd like to imagine) was a tattered piece of trash. A shredded bag, evidence betraying his actions in my room that day. Maybe it happened while I was at work. Or even while I sat downstairs watching Harvard Sailing Team videos on YouTube. All I know is that sometime today, he finished my bag of Peanut butter M&Ms. MY PEANUT BUTTER M&Ms. Arguably the best kind of M&Ms ever invented and a luxury I was looking forward to enjoying later that day.
I don't know if we can move past this.
It's hard to stay mad at a dog. Hm. I'd better go make sure he didn't eat my frozen pizza, the scoundrel.
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