Monty Python: Most Possibly a Somewhat Good Boy

I really can't stand animals. And while that doesn't make me a psychopath, it does make me a very bad person.


Jaime, on the other hand, loves animals more than his family and food, and that does technically make him a sociopath.

We take our self diagnoses very seriously, so we were very happy with our agreement to be childless, petless and selfish forever.

Then Tyson, Jaime's perro in Spain, passed away.

He was devastated, and I felt guilty. But he still didn't insist we get a dog, and all my guilt flittered the fuck away a few months later when a stranger's pit bull decided to white tiger my Roy ass while my husband, Siegfried, could only look on in horror.

I'm fine.

After we moved into our detached house with a fenced yard, Jaime swore to honor our agreement but informed me that he would be volunteering to walk dogs for our local animal shelter. It cut like a knife. How could he expect me to live like that?

But I did what any woman whose marriage was being threatened would do; I tried to make myself more attractive.

I redid my messy bun, pulled on leggings and an old hoodie, wiped the day old eyeliner from under my eyes and went with him to walk a nasty ass dog.

The first dog, Zeus, was fine but stupid. We decided we had time to walk another, and I waited outside for Jaime and the new stupid dog. Before he went in, though, I asked him not to bring out a pit bull because I'm still nervous around them.

He came back out with a pit bull named Ant.

I decided to peace out forever, but he lured me back a few weeks later. He didn't catch the name of this new dog, but we called him Michael because every time he peed, he moonwalked outta there.

Michael, who was renamed Miguel by the time we got back to the shelter, was a dream dog on that walk, and THAT IS HOW THEY GET YOU.

I asked Jaime if he'd be willing to maybe discuss the possibility of considering adopting him, and he agreed to definitely decide to without a doubt keep him until he died then have him cloned and cryogenically frozen.

And that's how we became the third family to adopt a dog with crippling separation anxiety and severe territory aggression whose real name, we learned, is Monty Python.