Thursday, September 14, 2017

Dear Diary: Pets Are Therapeutic

Year 331, Twelfth Age
Fading, Day 14

Dear diary,

So Mom thinks I ought to get a puppy, "like a normal boy". Yeah, she actually said that.

But it turned out to be a good idea.

I mean, yeah, Fluffy is another zombie and now my mom won't let her into the house. (Have I mentioned that adults make no sense? Adults make no sense.) But she's cute, she's obedient, and she's completely loyal to me. I need to get my own place so she can sleep on the bed with me at night.

Gladwin (That's my sister. Not sure if I mentioned her name before.) thinks it's weird that I'd rather have a dead dog than a live one, but once I pointed out that Fluffy doesn't pee on everything and won't dig up the yard unless I tell her to, she was a lot more reasonable about it. And my dad just shook his head and looked sad.

No, Mom's the real problem, even though this whole thing was her idea. I wish she could just be proud of me, for once.

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