We have a dog. He's a cute little dog, the kind of dog you'd expect to see in a movie, trotting along beside his young owner down a dirt road, towards the old fishing hole. We suspect that he's a cross between a Jack Russell terrier and a Shih Tzu, leading us to smugly assert that we do indeed know Jack-Shih't.
This is our dog:
He was acquired back when Middle Child was this girl:
At the time, she was showing herself to be a very responsible young lady, babysitting, saving her money, making wise decisions in general. These days, not so much.
Middle Child has left the building, by the way. In the fall, she decided that there were greener pastures to be trodden over at her dad's house- I protested, and held out for quite awhile, but in the end she tortured me into letting her go. As she was preparing for the move, her brother asked her whether she intended to take the dog with her, and she gave him an emphatic NO. Dogs are too much trouble, too much work. (I could have told her that the same applies to teenaged girls, but I bit my tongue.)
Anyway, shortly after that conversation, she was grumbling about some dog related task she'd been asked to perform, and the Man asked her, "Do you remember when we GOT the dog, and you promised to be the best dog owner EVER, and always take care of him, and be responsible for him?"
She rolled her eyes, hard, and said, "I have taken that back SO MANY TIMES by now."
(Should I tell her there are no takesies backsies in pet ownership?)