Looking for some heavy petting, Looking for some heavy petting seek chica that wants figure

About

The running machines are a gloomy chorus of heavy-footed stomping. Up till then I was just a dog-assed heavy, one of the posse.

Description

He was busy trying on T-shirts printed with cute slogans, such as ''Bad to the bone'' and ''Backyard Security''. He'd obviously tried on clothes before - he was adept at raising his little feet and balancing on his back legs, then sashaying backwards and forwards in front of the mirror.

She was re-hanging the clothes when he'd finished with them. The sales assistant was explaining how to find the right size in dog T-shirts: not too tight across the chest is the key, apparently. When you restrict their little front legs, it's uncomfortable.

I thought it again last night as I was tucking Myron in. He doesn't sleep well without being tucked in. If I forget, he'll stand in the doorway, watching me mournfully as I get ready for bed. He's a different species from me altogether.

Heavy petting

Well, things are going to change around here, starting from now. We had a long talk about it after dinner.

I talked, naturally. He listened. And licked his genitals. And I think we've come to a compromise. I am the human in this relationship.

Making out

I am responsible for buying his food, and if he doesn't like it, then he doesn't have to eat it. But he's not getting anything else. It's not a restaurant. I'll pack it up and send it to all the starving dogs in Africa until he realises how lucky he is. And from now on I am the one who chooses what's on TV. Except Meerkat Manorbecause that's his favourite show and I don't want to be unreasonable.

But no more flicking channels to find the Dulux ad. Save those puppy dog eyes for someone who is weak-willed. I will not falter.

But that's it. And it's about time he lifted his paws around here. He can stop disembowelling all his soft toys for a start. I am forever stomping around the backyard picking up a snowstorm of cushion foam, re-stuffing some overpriced sheep or dragon, then sewing its guts back in. He should learn to take care of his things.

Heavy petting

I'm not made of stuffed toys. And what would happen if I ever decided to get a real pet sheep? Or dragon? Recipe for disaster, unless you learn some restraint, young Myron. Myron's response to my new set of house rules was less than inspiring: he simply rolled on to his back so I could scratch his tummy.

Part of the reason we share our homes with dogs must be to experience the thrill of the wild.

I see Myron's teeth especially when I pull back his gums to check he has no visible decay and his ragged claws. This is nature, wild and invincible, sleeping next to my desk.

I am the tamer of the untamed, the mistress of the fierce. The provider of snacks that are not too squishy, but not so chewy either that he gets bored and buries them straightaway, using his nose, which is then covered in dirt. So he wipes it on the couch.

Making out

All hail me. Some heavy petting. Please try again later. The Age. By Toni Jordan February 9, — Save Log inregister or subscribe to save articles for later. Normal text size Larger text size Very large text size.

He wore the most adorable collar, studded with rhinestones that spelt out his name.

Then it hit me: is it possible that our humanification of dogs has gone too far? this article. City life.