Dog
When
I got home, there was a dog in the living room. It was a white, short-haired
bulldog, or at least it looked like a bulldog. Apparently my parents
had taken a new domestic animal.
"Where
did this come from?" I asked.
"Oh that, it's been with us for quite some time," my dad
replied.
Usually,
I don't care so much about dogs, but this seemed so happy and full
of energy that I jumped in to play with it. The dog laughed out loudly
and wriggled on the couch when I scratched it from the stomach.
"I
didn't know that dogs can laugh," I wondered.
"Don't they?" my mother replied.
I
had thought that only people could laugh, unless the sound made by
some monkeys could be counted as laughter. But I have to say the dog
sounded just as if it was laughing.
Actually,
it had so much fun as I tickled it that it forgot to hold back the
poo that was coming out. "Quick, get some paper!" I yelled
as the brown stuff fell on the sofa. "Yuck!"
The
dog continued to play with me, and I didn't feel like stopping either
when the creature was so playful. However, the dirt on the sofa began
to bother me so much that I yelled again: "Bring that paper now!"
I
was really upset when my mom finally brought a piece of toilet paper.
Sure enough, the couch was old - over thirty years - but did we still
have to mess it up?
