Outed

So, I’ve been outed. I don’t like puppies. Accordingly… I have no soul. I’m actually fine with having no soul. I’ll admit, it’d be better if that were still a secret. My family might have their suspicions, but no one would ever really know. Now we got this damn puppy, and I can hide it no longer. My family all fell in love with the little white and brown headache when they laid their eyes on it. I didn’t. That’s when they knew.

All I see is work, stains, smells, chewed up shoes and remote controls and rugs and furniture. We’ve had it for a month now and their love for it oozes all over the house, all over the rugs. I can barely tolerate the damn thing.

I’ve never been a pet person. It isn’t because of any particular deal with the devil. I just haven’t ever been a pet person. But it isn’t like I’ve tried to push that on my family (all of them… pet people). Before this little hair ball came along I, mostly quietly, tolerated 2 dogs, 3 cats, about 10 hamsters, all sorts of lizards, 3 birds and thousands of fish. My daughter even keeps some pet crickets on occasion. As these pets come along, others go away. They make their way into my garage freezer (the morgue) and then when we have enough for a mass funeral, the front yard (cemetery). Do you know how many places I can't plant bushes or bulbs now? There are corpses everywhere.

Now my son is ten and I finally agree that he’s old enough for his own puppy. He's doing a great job raising and training and mostly cleaning up after it. But because I see through its cute, excited, playful act, I’m the bad guy.

My wife says its because I’m a robot. I have gears and wires where other people have hearts. My kids just think that I’m mean and hate every that is good in the world. “Please don’t kill the intruder in the big red suit at Christmas daddy, he a friend.” I won’t kill him, but I will eat his cookies.