Logan (the dog) escaped the house two nights ago, and we nearly gave up all hope on his first night here. I found him prancing around the mailboxes, avoiding the loud, open garages.
We have no idea how long he's been on the streets. He barked today when he needed to go out back for bathroom time, which is a sign of domestication. However, he was tagless, collarless, and still has his balls.
He warmed up very quickly, but is still holding a slight grudge against me for the bath I gave him yesterday, and the little tennis balls that I toss at him (that he's scared to death of). The signs of abuse outweigh the signs of domestication.
Listen to my An Hour Of Nonsense appearance here for some dating game setup/fat face stories.
C-section scar. I call it my scar.
... plus...
Mrs. Cavities.
... plus...
I'm an ass-eater, Krystal's friends!
... plus...
And I've cried in two women's arms, so I'm in touch with my emotions.
... plus...
I've squeezed a baby's balls...
-- "Close the closet!" --
... well it was in the closet.
It's a good flow of consciousness. The dating game segment is this Sunday, I'm the bachelor.
Also, look what the nice folks over at theoandvirus.com did for me...
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