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My Dog is a Karen!

Hello everyone,

Karen Gets into Trouble

A quiet Wednesday afternoon finds me at the computer typing out a new chapter in my next book. The creative juices flowing to my fingers pecking at the keys place the words in a mad fury on the screen. A thousand words mash into a story in one hour. It requires a lot of editing, but the basic story fills the page.

We have two burgundy red high-back chairs, a couch, and a loveseat decorating our living room. My wife covers the sofas with a cover easily removed to clean the Ginger colored hair off it periodically. Two matching throw pillows that adorn the sofas fill on the cushions of the red chairs keeping the dog off them and her hair from collecting and redepositing on unsuspecting visitors.

Ginger with her full Karen disposition believes this to be an affront to who she is. It is her right as a Karen to leave her dog hair anywhere she wants it. Furthermore, we peasants living in the house with her should wear her hair proudly wherever we go to show her dominance over us. Guest visiting her home should feel privileged to leave with her mark of orange-red hair all over their clothes.

In fulfilling this mission statement, she wrenches the covers off the sofas several times and prefers sleeping on the red chairs. Well, mom likes spoiling her fur baby but draws the line at her sleeping on the uncovered chairs. Ginger acquires the bright idea to pull the cushions and the throw pillow off the chair and sleep on the floor with them.

I break from writing to see her snoozing comfortably half on the red cushion and half on the throw pillow. “Ohhh, you are going to get into trouble when mom sees what you did.”

“Grrrrrnnnn, Orrrrnnneeerr,” comes back at me.

A couple of minutes later mom enters the living room to see her beloved dog sitting on the couch staring at the mess on the floor. “Who did this,” she rants glowering at her fur baby.

“Grrrrrnnnn, rrrrrummmm,” in defense of the indefensible.

As mom picks up the cushion and pillow, Ginger waddles her furry butt into the kitchen with a stare declaring it was my fault for not picking up the mess she made. That’s right folks, it was my fault she got into trouble with her mom even though she was the one that broke the rules of mom. I misunderstood her grumbling to me to clean up her mess before mom sees it.

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God bless,

Danny Mac

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