This I know: If and when I'm ready for a dog, it will probably be a terrier of some kind, something mid-sized, scruffy, with some personality.
For shits and giggles, I decide to take an online test about what kind of terrier I should own.
My mind swirls with the possibilities as each question passes. What will I get? Will I get a Jack Russell (not really my style but playful and stubborn)? Wire Fox terrier - fearless and intelligent? Airedale, a mix of which my beloved childhood dog was? Maybe the affectionate and strangely coiffed Dandie Dinmont? Maybe I'll be lucky and paired with a Manchester terrier!
I wait -- the computer is slow tonight ... calculating ... calculating ... and I come up with ...
Pit Bull. Pit Bull? Seriously? But ... but ... my house is too small! Even in my dreams, my dream house is too small. A Pit Bull would hog the couch and the bed and the floor. Unfortunately, in my neck of the too-urban world, some adoptable Pitties generally are not trained to be friendly. That's not prejudicial thinking; that's "I live near Lawrence, Massachusetts" fact.
As if this isn't horrifying enough, I take a general dog test and end up with the dreaded Bichon Frise, dreaded because an ex-pal had one that smelled something fierce and would always choose me upon whom to jump and sit. Always. Me. No. Just no.
Well, that settles it, then. When I decide to get another pet, I'm buying a turtle and naming it Yertle. The end.
