the 'barmy dog lady with no kids of her own' transformation is almost complete- minus the stuffed corpse of little buddy/bucky/bradie, circa. 1984 in repose, underfoot.
while there aren't swings, slides and merry-go-rounds to punt the poodles off of at the dog park, there is an endless supply of poo, mud pits, and bum holes to stimulate each sensory function. because dog owners ultimately share the same side of the crazy coin as their oft ridiculed feline fanatic cousins, which goes beyond playing dress up and naming them "napoleon" or "cappuccino". let's take "oxymoron" who is brought to the park for the requisite exercise and socialization, but then immediately admonished for acquiring a thick saliva/dirt crust as a result of engaging in aforementioned activities. last time i tried tiring myself out with something as taxing as running, it did in fact require a more significant form of ablutions than simply licking my feet clean. apparently it is more arduous to hose off a dog than it is to redecorate the living room.
admittedly the last thing anyone wants is notoriety for being responsible for "The Problem Pooch", however public displays of mounting, nipping and bodyslamming will guarantee immediate titleship. axel is two for three.
we sleep in a pile every night, and while the sheets smell of fabric softener, they are also coated in a fine sheen of drool.