Exceptional Beware: Level-three dog-lover lives in your neighborhood! Pet-o-philia Misconstrued by Elizabeth Emerald

Twelve years ago this month, I swapped out John, a delusional, debt-ridden drunk, for Chuck, who is (semi) sane, solvent, and sober. My then twenty-year-old daughter, who'd long disparaged me for my inauspicious picks in men (her father in particular), was thus predisposed to dislike Chuck. Indeed, as I feared, when I introduced Chuck to Lauren, she was unabashedly unpleasant. Lauren, demoralized by her own roster of ill-advised relationships, had traded the lot for a dog, a Chihuahua, whom she (eventually) named Munchie. (During the week-long limbo of her indecision, I'd dubbed him Puplet, by which moniker I call him still.) Mortified by Lauren's uncalled-for antipathy toward Chuck, I mulled over how best to effect an attitude adjustment, and lit upon the idea of using Puplet, whom Chuck had quickly come to love, as the hook.  Energized by my ingenuity, I intercepted Lauren mid-stomp up the staircase, Puplet in arms after their "business trip." I told Lauren to hold up, that there was something she ought to know. As she turned toward me, I said: Chuck is an inveterate pet-o-phile. Lauren glared. Clutching Puplet to her chest, she retorted:  Don't you dare let him touch my dog!   Recognized Author Notes My Best Buddy by mamamary on FanArtReview.com THANK YOU! Looks just like Puplet!

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