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So, I go over to this woman's house, and she invites me for dinner. Everything seems normal until she starts preparing a meal for her dog. I'm not talking about just tossing a few kibbles in a bowl. No, she's got a whole gourmet setup—chicken, rice, vegetables, the whole shebang. I'm just sitting there thinking, "Do you have a Michelin star for your dog's dinner, or are you auditioning for a cooking show that I'm not aware of?" I mean, my idea of cooking for my dog is tossing him a biscuit and hoping he doesn't choke on it.
And then she looks at me and says, "Don't worry; I made extra. Would you like some?" I'm sorry, but I'm not competing with Fido for a spot at the dinner table. I'll stick to my human-sized portions, thank you very much.
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You ever notice how some people treat their dogs like they're their therapists? I met this woman the other day, and she's walking around the park talking to her dog like it's Dr. Phil or something. I'm just standing there thinking, "Lady, your dog is not a licensed therapist. He's just an expert at sniffing butts, not solving your deep-seated emotional issues." And what's with those baby voices people use when they talk to their dogs? She's like, "Oh, who's a good boy? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!" Meanwhile, I'm standing there trying to have a normal conversation, and it feels like I'm in the middle of a Disney princess movie. I'm waiting for birds to start chirping and a squirrel to hand me a cup of coffee.
I mean, I get it; dogs are great companions. But let's not pretend they have all the answers. If my dog could talk, the only advice he'd give me is, "Stop eating the cat's food when no one's looking.
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You ever try having a serious conversation with someone whose dog is around? It's impossible. I'm talking to this woman, and her dog is there, staring at me with those judgmental eyes. It's like he's the canine version of Simon Cowell, silently critiquing my every word. I'm pouring my heart out about life, love, and the pursuit of happiness, and all I get is a wagging tail and a disapproving look. I half-expect him to hold up a sign that says, "I give this conversation a two paws down."
And don't get me started on the interruptions. I'm in the middle of making a profound point, and the dog decides it's the perfect time to start barking like there's a squirrel invasion happening. Thanks, Rover, for completely derailing my deep and meaningful conversation.
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So, this woman tells me she's on a dating app for dog owners. Apparently, it's like Tinder but for people and their dogs. Now, call me old-fashioned, but I thought dating was about finding a human connection, not swiping right based on how cute someone's poodle looks. She's showing me profiles of potential matches, and it's all about compatibility with their dogs. "Oh, he has a golden retriever; that's a good sign." "Swipe left; his chihuahua doesn't get along with my labrador." It's like the dogs are the ones making the decisions, and we're just along for the ride.
I'm just waiting for the day when people start having joint custody battles over their dogs after a breakup. "I get Fluffy on the weekends, and you can have him on holidays." I can see the divorce court now, with the judge asking, "Have you considered a doggy prenup?
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