After her countless attempts, I finally gave into my wife’s persistent requests to get a dog. He was solid black with a little splash of white on his chest. We named him Marley. I seems a little silly that I would be giving the speech about taking care of a dog to my own wife, but I figured it would perhaps relieve me of some of the usually doggy chores that go along with a puppy. I was wrong. So far after ten days, this dog has mistaken the kitchen for the restroom about thirty times. It is rather unique in the timing of the puppy’s digestional emptying. He has perfectly timed his pooping to where it will coincide with moments where my wife will be cooking or doing some activity in which her hands must stay sanitary poop-free. Therefore, it becomes my duty to remove the feces and take the dog outside. Marley has also decide to only chew on my belongs and not hers. Just today, one my friends asked me when I got the new dog. I replied to them that I had not gotten a new Labrador. My wife owns the dog. The cat is mine.