I use to own things that were clean. Couches, Chairs, Clothing, Shoes, Rugs and Blankets. If you knew me in the Pre-Brutus era, I was the one that had all the perfect outfits. I wouldn't leave the house without ironing everything down to my undies. Now, I don't even know where the iron is? He most likely ate it. Crisp lines, cool T's, ruffled white skirts. White pillows, Tommy Cotton sheets and snowball slippers. Now, my life and my stuff is covered in dirt and saliva. If it was white when I bought it was sure to be covered in slobber by the next day. I don't know what is the obsession is with this dog in chewing, drooling, sucking and sometimes peeing on my stuff? Can someone explain this? It's pretty ironic that my once inhabited bedroom was filled with cleanliness and hope and now I am subjected to muddy grime and rejection.
Example #1 Would be my Couch. Only bought a few months ago, my attempt at contemporary design, I decided to buy only beige and white furniture. Hoping soon my crazy bulldog would be totally trained and would respect my stuff. Instead...Ah, nope..try again. My couch on a daily basis has to be de-drooled and brushed. I find the craziest stuff in there. Nope, not money or that guy I can't remember his name's phone number. I find chewed sharpies, severed bones, half-ate chap sticks and doggy cookie crumbs. He owns this couch but somehow doesn't owe on the bills to Ikea. Example #2 Shower Time. I used to be able to relax and take showers with the hope of being fresh and clean. Now, if he is not leaping into the shower to steal the soap, he is humping and covering me with puppy dribble and slime. Don't even think about putting lotion on your legs! You are asking for it. It's like Bulldog Viagra! "The red rocket," will be sure to be out for the rest of the afternoon. I leave the house with the roughest of legs and disgusted idea of ever returning home.
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