I'm dogsitting for Paco over the holiday weekend. It's eight kinds of awesome because he's the best Dalmatian of all time. Also the only Dalmatian I know, but whatever. Details. And also because his dads live right near the Capitol Square, which is, like, the greatest place on earth.
Paco's pretty obedient. He follows rules--mostly of the NO YOU DO NOT BELONG ON THE FURNITURE variety. Don't tell his dads, but sometimes I cheat a little and let him snuggle with me on the couch. WHAT? I should be able to spoil my fur-"nephew." LOOK AT THAT FACE. Yeah. You tell him no.
Paco's papa sent me a text earlier tonight to remind me that if I wanted to camp out in their condo for the weekend, there are fresh sheets on the bed, so help myself, basically. Just strip 'em on Monday. I replied, letting him know not to worry. When I stay over, I said, I blow up the air mattress and snuggle with Paco.
His response: "omglolz. Explains what happened with the house guests last week!"
I paused. Oh boy. What happened with the house guests, or did I even want to know? Great. There was probably a hole in the air mattress from doggy claws because I foolishly allowed a dog to sleep on an inflatable bed. Just add that to the list of friends' furniture that I've defiled lately. (Don't ask).
DAMMIT. You can't take me anywhere.
I panicked a little, waiting for his response. Biting my nails, wondering what I possibly could've done to muddy the visit of his guests. And then he sent me this:
And I smiled like a proud damn mama. Way to go, Paco. Way to go. We're going to rule the holiday weekend.