“The dogmom cried and cried, like most of us do when we’re alone, but the sweet little dog’s presence made it so that she didn’t hurt as much.”

The sweet little dog filled the dogmom’s maternal void better than any smelly old baby could.  The sweet little dog urinated and defecated all over the dogmom’s apartment and had numerous psychological issues besides, but the dogmom remained as kind and understanding as could be.  The sweet little dog went to the behavioralist and the veterinarian and wherever else sweet little dogs go when they are holy terrors.  The sweet little dog cost the dogmom a small fortune, but she knew that it was worth every penny.

The dogmom was a frumpy, unprepossessing woman in her early thirties.  Life had passed the dogmom by, and more’s the pity.   The dogmom tried to drown her sorrows in stacks of paperback romance novels but soon desired the attention of a living companion.  The dogmom’s thoughts turned to sweet little dogs, so she bought the one I’ve been telling you about.

When the sweet little dog wasn’t suffering from separation anxiety or having an allergic reaction to its dog food, it sat on the love seat next to the dogmom.  The dogmom cried and cried, like most of us do when we’re alone, but the sweet little dog’s presence made it so that she didn’t hurt as much.

The dogmom never had the opportunity to run her stubby fingers across a man’s hairy chest.  Instead, the dogmom contented herself by running her stubby fingers across the sweet little dog’s furry back.  The dogmom hated herself, in fact she wanted to kill herself, but there was this sweet little dog that depended on her.

The dogmom’s sisters were real moms, and they were proud of their children.  The dogmom had only the sweet little dog, and she tried to be proud of it.  Sometimes the sweet little dog would stare up at the dogmom with its saucer eyes.  What the sweet little dog saw reflected in the dogmom’s eyes was anybody’s guess.

Photo–Flickr/theogeo