In which I've become obsessed and can't be stopped.

My pal Mandy took me to the dog park last night. No, not because I, myself, needed to stretch my legs and sniff other dogs' butts, but because her pooch, Jack, needed to do so.

And, OH MY GOD, I need a dog. Have you BEEN to a dog park? It's nothing but dogs. EVERYWHERE. Uh, well, I guess, hence the name DOG PARK. But regardless, it's heaven. It's wide open spaces, hills, bushes, dogs, people, playing, barking, no leashes, toys, running, PUPPIES, ev-er-y-where.

And the owners make friends. And the dogs make friends. And the people are all, "See you next week," and "Caesar missed Vinnie last night," and, "Are you coming back tomorrow?" It's like a dog community. And Jack? He was PRECIOUS. And I need a dog. Now. No, seriously. Give me a dog.

I've always wanted a dog. Of my own. My parents have a dog, bless his heart, but it's THEIR dog. I just go home, play with him, then leave. And next time I see him, he's gained 8 pounds and bites harder. I want my OWN dog so I can watch him grow, and yell at him when he pees on the floor, and secretly laugh when he disgusts visitors by jumping on them as they enter the door. It's MY dog, if you don't like him, LEAVE. That'll be MY philosophy. When I have a dog. Which should be NOW.

The Fiance and I have thrown around the dog idea. As in, WE ARE GETTING A DOG. Someday. And his name will be Buster. (Only because he won't let me name it Richard). At first it was a Labrador. Brown. Then maybe black. Or what about a Golden Retriever? But now, oh people, this is it. We need a Boxer. Oh, heaven. A sweet, baby, guardian dog, child-loving, precious Boxer.

And all because Mandy (evil, evil Mandy) FORCED me to go to the DOG PARK and, GOD, be MADE to play with vile, rotten PUPPIES all night, I MUST have a dog NOW. My soon-to-be-married pals, bless THEIR hearts, are soon-to-be-getting a puppy, as well. His name is Mr. Big. And I am SO jealous that my small, bleeding heart hurts. I can't WAIT to share a dog with The Fiance (soon-to-be husband). It's the next best thing to kids. Maybe BETTER than kids. (Mom, is Ozzie better than me and The Sister? Wait. Don't answer that).

I scoured the internet this morning learning All Things Boxer. They love people. They're loyal. They act as guardians. They are gentle with pets as long as they're raised well (although I can't promise Harley won't eat Buster). They need exercise, but are just as content indoors. And, hi, they are PRECIOUS. Boxer babies are all wrinkly and wobbly and baby-like.

And I know Mom is all, "Tsk-tsk-ing" me and all, "What about your kitties!?" and, "Dogs SUCK" and "They're too much work!" but here is where I will resort to my inner-adolescent, "But Moommmmmmmmmmmmm! I WANT A PUPPY!!!!"

And with that, I will leave you with these photos. If for no other reason than to prove that Boxers are God's Gift To Me. And that I already e-mailed The Fiance and TOLD him, "We are getting a Boxer. And it will be our wedding gift to each other."

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Exhibit A: The puppy. I am in love. I can see Baby Buster already.

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Exhibit B: The Future Buster and (sort of, but doesn't really look like) Chicken, co-existing peacefully, like old friends. To which Mandy replied, "Chicken would NEVER allow that." And I say, well, Chicken never wanted Harley either, and although Harley is evil and also the spawn of Satan, they are lovers now, so, well, IT WILL HAPPEN. If I have anything to do with it.

The end.