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Frumpy Middle-Aged Mom: Why my dogs aren’t my kids. And you won’t see them in the grocery store, either.

By in Press Enterprise on February 13, 2018

By Marla Jo Fisher

I have two dogs, but allow me to be more specific: I’m a dog owner, not a “pet parent.” They’re my animals. Not my “fur babies.”

If they were my human children, I’d be expecting them to find my eyeglasses for me when they’re actually on the top of my head, ask for money every time I open my wallet and show me how to do utterly obvious things on my iPhone while rolling their eyes in disgust.

Spoiler alert, but I don’t bring my dog to the opera, either. I recently saw a dog at the L.A. Opera and I don’t mean a trained service animal, either. Sadly, it was only in passing, so I didn’t get a chance to inquire if this Pomeranian appreciated the soprano or thought she might have been off key during the final aria. If I’d brought my dog, he might have started howling at that point, possibly leading to a lucrative contract. Need to ponder that one.

I particularly appreciate those pet parents who bring their fur babies to the grocery store, and then put them in the top basket of the cart as they wheel around shopping. Yeah, that’s sanitary.

If you work for a grocery store, tell me this: Do you ever confront those folks? Do you ever suggest that maybe the pooch could stay home for an hour? What kind of rules are you dealing with?

I suppose maybe the dogs are just there to look for the Bowser Beer. Seriously, my friends, you can’t make this stuff up. You can actually buy non-alcoholic beer. For your pooch. You can get a six-pack for a mere $26.99. But it would be oh-so-hard to choose between the “brown beefy ale” and the “pork pug porter.”

I know I’m going to get hate mail from those […]    

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