Sometimes, I like hearing her cry.
It balances out the stress she causes me.
God forbid I put her in her playpen for a few minutes—with all her toys, treats, and blankets—only for her to still throw a fit.
So yeah, cry. Get it all out.
Because you’re not coming out.
I have things to do.
Things around the house.
And I can’t trust you not to pee or poop all over it.
I have to go to work—to keep the lights on, to keep food in your bowl.
You just don’t give a damn about the things I’m going through.
A couple of minutes in your playpen won’t kill you.
I wake up at the crack of dawn to walk you.
And you can’t give me five minutes to myself without a meltdown?
You do whatever you want—bite everything, bark when you don’t get your way.
So spoiled.
I’m annoyed and frustrated. I’m asking myself why I ever decided to get a dog in the first place? Why would I sign up for this?
Sometimes I hate it when you cry, I try to tiptoe around the house so you don’t wake up or hear me, but your senses are far too great.
I avoid moving so that you don’t wake up and start crying again
Sometimes I miss being by myself. But now I can’t imagine life without you.
You’re a good girl.
But you give me a headache.
Echo R.S 