Granted the dog is cute. Shaggy like a poodle, squat like a terrier, grey like his daddy.
When I met Weasel the dog had never been for a walk in the country, so I took him and ignored the instruction to not let him off the lead. The dog went mad with joy and whenever he saw me after that would go crazy for me, the woman that correctly identified him as a dog and not a life partner. Weasel told me he was a fussy eater and was gob-smacked when I gave him a bowl of Vitalin (£6.99 a hundred-weight) and Doggo wolfed it down.
When Weasel was going somewhere where dogs weren't welcome I was supposed to look after the dog but Weasel couldn't leave him. The dog is like a son to him you see.
You say "Sit" to Doggo and he'll just look at you befuddled. "That's my boy!" crows Weasel, "Nobody tells him what to do!" The unspoken thought lies heavy. The dog is cute but thick.
Weasel claims he doesn't need me because all he needs is his dog.
Naturally I asked does he have sex with the dog?
What kind of sick bastard has sex with a dog? he replied.
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