When I married Boo, I made sure that no where in our vows were the words “obey.” Why set myself up for failure?

I’m just not the type of girl who does very well at obeying. I’m not obedient. If that was a marital requirement of Boo’s, he’d be better off getting a dog.

I’m no man’s bitch. I’m an independent bitch.

That said, I try very hard to respect my husband’s wishes, even when I don’t agree with them. The man supports my arse and keeps me in Cheetos and boxed wine as I sit on my duff all day and surf the internet. I know better than to bite the hand that feeds me.

I like being a kept woman, and I love my sugar-daddy. 

Yet there are times when my husband lays down the law, puts his foot down and absolutely refuses to consider a request I’ve made. It happens so infrequently that I always blink with surprise when he revolts. The last time he refused a request of mine was a few years ago and it may have involved public intoxication and the possibility of bailing my ass out of the clink.

He is wise beyond his years.

However, this time, he had his head up his butt. He was being unreasonable. Stubborn for the sake of being difficult. Digging his heels in and ignoring the wishes and wants of every member of his family for his own personal motives.

I did the only thing I could think of. I over-rode his decision; blatantly disregarded his dictatorial commands and did what I wanted to for the sake of our family.

I brought home a new puppy.

Boo was pissed.

Meet Thatcher, Nixon’s running mate.

My children are over the moon and Nixon, the World’s Greatest Dog, EVER, is still smiling. Of course, it helps that the new dog will be half his size, is dumber than a stump and has female parts. The perfect doggy girlfriend for my sweet Nixon.

My motives were completely selfish pure. Nixon looked lonely, my birdies had kicked the bucket and I am still waiting for an adoption to happen that is beginning to look as though it may be a pipe dream. My heart was over-flowing with love and I needed someone to slather that love all over.

Nixon may have been a tad over-excited.

A puppy was the perfect solution.

Not according to my husband. Who, for days has refused to acknowledge my sweet little mongrel’s existence. He even threatened divorce and at one point thundered that it was him or the dog. He quickly backed down when I tossed a suitcase at his feet and told him to start packing.

Like me, she is no man’s bitch.

In a moment of quiet, after I just finished buttering him up (read: gave him a treat, wink, wink,) I asked Boo what the big deal with another puppy was. Why he was so resistant to the sweet intoxication of puppy kisses and big brown eyes?

“I don’t need another damn dog in my bed. One ass-licker is more than enough.”

Thatcher, Boo’s butt-licker in training.

Well, if that’s all he was worried about, problem solved. My new little pup can just sleep with the kids.

Once he realized there would be no other farting, snoring, shedding little fur monsters fighting with him for the chance to sleep next to me, he calmed down. Enough that I even caught him petting my new pup and talking cute little puppy talk as he scratched her belly.

(Who’s da sweetest liddle puppy wog in da whole wide world? Thatcher, dat’s wight my widdle pwe-shush…)

Oh my sugar-daddy likes to talk tough. But when push comes to shove, he’s all bark and no bite.

That said, I’m gonna take this as a hint that now isn’t the time to artfully slip him the ole pinky finger in the throes of passion. If you know what I mean.

Wink, wink.

How do you not love a dog who sleeps on your shoulder?