Oh Mikey.  He is, without a doubt, the peanut butter to my jelly.  The egg to my mcmuffin.  The creamer in my coffee.  (Mmmmmmm.  Coffee.)  He’s my baby-faced Irish dreamboat, but he’s not perfect.  Case in point: he has a major prejudice against small dogs.  Now I don’t discriminate against any canine- large or small, spotted or brindle,  slobbery or snaggle-toothed.  But while I cuddle pups without judgment, all dogs under 15 pounds are no more than glorified rodents to my husband.  Especially when he sees a little dog **gasp** dressed to the nines à la Paris Hilton.

While Mike has made it perfectly clear how he feels about the daintier breeds, he still feels the need to express his distaste of them every. single. time. he sees one.  Why don’t you join us on our drive to the grocery store this evening…

Mike looks out the window and sees a nice couple, minding their own business, taking their yorkies for a walk.

Blech.  Look at that couple walking those little things.  Harlow could eat them for lunch.  If I was that guy, I wouldn’t feel like a man.

We drive about another quarter of a mile and Mike spots some guy walking his husky.

If I was THAT man, I’d be like, “yeah.  I’m a badass.

my husband and his bad ass dog.


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