Broken Record

My mom told me tonight that I sound like a broken record. I told her that she was right and then blamed it on Ben. He was the one who started the record. He lured me to a pet shop on Saturday and encouraged me to hold a Boston terrier.

He should have known better...

Basically, I'm a dog lover. And whenever I talk about them, I turn into a 7-year-old who's begging her parents to give in and let her get one. Pretty please. I'll clean up after it. And yes, I'll take the dog outside to poop even when it's 10 below out.

The latest rant, however, got started when Ben and I went to a pet shop on Saturday. I'm not a fan of puppy shops. If I had lots of cash, I'd buy all the dogs and give them to loving owners. We had just gotten out of our marriage preparation class and we were in need of some good puppy affection.

The place smelled bad and it was packed with people willing to fork out thousands of dollars for a French bulldog. In the middle of a wall of cages, I saw a sleepy Boston terrier, pleading for love. I grew up with two Boston terriers as pets -- at separate times. We had Gizmo, the puppy who threw up all of the time, and Molly, the terror. I didn't want to hold him, knowing what it would lead to -- nonstop talk about a 3-month-old stranger that barked. But Ben encouraged it. He kept asking if I wanted to hold the baby Boston terrier.

I gave in, and now I'm a broken record. I've been searching the classifieds, looking for breeders in Minnesota (there's one near my hometown) and finding pictures in Google since Saturday.

I'm a hopeless dog lover.