Poor-meranian

When I was about four, my parents decided to get a Pomeranian. This was the first pet I ever had, and my parents were very attentive, making sure I was gentle with him. After a week or so, they trusted me enough with him to leave us alone together, and we were inseparable. I loved playing with the little guy. 

My grandparents were over for dinner one day and I excused myself to play. I was running back and forth from one end of the house to the other, so my parents asked me to stop. That’s when they noticed I had a pillowcase in my hand. They asked me what was in it and I said, “Nothing,” and ran off giggling as the bag started to bark. My parents chased me down and wrestled the bag out of my hands, rescuing the poor Pomeranian from me. When they got him out of the bag, he had doll clothes on him with marker all over his face and paws as if it were makeup and nail polish. 

After giving me a huge scolding, they sent the dog home with my grandparents, where he lived out his life very happily. They decided to wait a while before getting a couple of labs, figuring it would be harder for me to bully a larger breed. Luckily, I grew up to be much more loving towards dogs, but my parents still won’t let me live it down to this day!