Well I didn’t expect that when she came home…

My wife just brought home a goddamn Pomeranian.

Apparently this is a dog

We had been discussing getting a dog (in lieu of a kid) for some time now. I wanted an actual dog, y’know one that would fetch your slippers, drive away intruders, a real dog’s dog.

Instead I get this:

80% fluff 20% rat

We’re off to the pet store to get some stuff that apparently it needs. It isn’t even big enough to be taken for a walk, it’s only 8 weeks old and you can tell it isn’t ready for the outside world by the fact that EVERYTHING IS BIGGER THAN IT AND WOULD INSTANTLY KILL/EAT IT. This thing literally fits in the palm of my hand.

This is gonna end like that scene in The Sopranos when Christopher gets wasted on skag and sits down on his girlfriend’s miniature Chihuahua, crushing it to death. Except without the heroin part.

Here it is, already ruining my furniture and upholstery. This rug really ties the room together, but this little bastard don’t got time for dat.

Im finna eat this rug juuuuust a bit, k?

My reaction to this small bundle of fur and yapping squaks is mirrored by our cat:

The fuck is this shit?

I’ve named it RJ MacReady after Kurt Russell’s character in John Carpenter’s The Thing, which incidentally is the best movie ever. Because right now it is just a yapping, nibbling, crapping all over the place thing. Possibly a thing I might grow to love. Or sit on. Whatever happens first.

f.