Puppy Breath

 Dogs are cute. And cuddly. …And smelly. If you like that sort of thing. At 6am. Which I don’t. Ugh, I’m not evil. I’ll elaborate. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan of fuzzy pups and I’m totally an early riser; but I am not a chipper one, prior to my cup of joe. Nope, not even in the slightest bit. I need to coffee before anything happens. And, I mean… ANYTHING. That goes for any impending puppy breath apocalypse as well. Hi, Oh, we have impending -puppy breath- doom upon us? Ok, great, please hold until I’m spry and alert, thanks.

Unfortunately though, my mother,  has bequeathed her new puppy upon me to awaken me from the dead this morning. I can’t even be called a walking dead. Just sleep-dead. The cutest, floppiest and clumsiest, little beagle-jack bastard I have ever seen. Dammit. Inner conflictery.  It’s hard to get mad at such squishy, plushy little doggie; But, alas, I still shoo her away as quickly as possible because she has the energy of something I don’t, this early in the am. Pre-cup of black mud. Or life. I think if my mum wants the screen of that iphone fixed today, she  better play nice. I don’t take kindly to waking up with an alarm, by dog essence.

 As I slurp down my 4th cup of Maxwell House-a “wake up” medium roast, which is more like a light roast, and isn’t doing enough of a waking me up roast at all- I’ve got a canine zephyr over me, slobbering up my arms and legs, hoping I’ll play with her. I don’t. In fact, I’d rather know that when I apply my body lotion onto my limbs, that this fuzzball would refrain from licking it off my person. From any part of me. Especially, in between my toes.

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