My Best Friends Have Hairy Legs Read Online Free PDF

year later and when we moved into our new home the following spring, he insisted I get rid of her because she had still not accepted him. Hating myself for doing it, I obliged, crying all the way to the animal shelter and looking in the rear view mirror the entire time, hoping and praying he would chase after me to tell me I could keep her.
    Looking back now I can see that was the defining moment when I submitted to his control and the manipulation that would keep me bound by fear to him for the duration of our marriage. I had already experienced his temper enough to know that if I refused his demands to get rid of Jazzmin it would not have been an easy life for us, and he most likely would have taken matters into his own hands to get rid of her. Shortly after she was gone, he brought home a little grey kitten he named Angel. Whether or not it was meant as an apology for his dislike of Jazzmin, I don’t know. But I took it as such and life went on.
    Angel was joined by Shotzy, an adult German Shepherd that became our “guard” dog. I’m not sure that he would ever have attacked anyone, but he sounded fierce when he barked and certainly would have made anyone think twice before trying to break into the house. Several years later when we went camping for a long weekend, we set the TV and several lights on timers so that it would look as if someone was home. Shotzy was restricted to the yard—which was fenced in to completely surround the house, but he had access to a covered side patio where his water and food were just out-side the kitchen door. We left him plenty of water and food since he tended to be a grazer and not a gulper when he ate. The kitchen door had a small cat door installed so that Angel could come and go as she wanted, and her food and water were left in the kitchen. We had left them before on previous camping trips for the same amount of time, and never had any problems.
    This trip, however, didn’t go as smoothly. When we returned after three nights away, we could hear Shotzy barking like crazy from inside the house as we unlocked the front door. Expecting the worst—broken windows and a burglarized house—Will rushed to get inside.
    Shotzy had apparently decided that he needed to be in the house while we were gone this time and managed to squeeze through the tiny cat door in the kitchen. Once inside he realized that he couldn’t get back out so set about to get comfortable. Judging by the mess he left, it appeared he had been in the house for at least two nights. He had eaten all of the cat food, drank both toilets dry, and dragged the trash can into the living room where he scattered everything in his search for more food. Fortunately, he restricted his bathroom breaks to the breakfast nook where the floor was easier cleaned and sanitized than if he had used the living room carpet. The sofa was covered with his fur, so we assumed he had slept there, enjoying the TV when it came on periodically. While we were fishing in the mountains, he was kicking back at home, living the good life.
    A year later we got our first pug from friends of ours. Chynna was black, with a little white star on her chest, and when she lay back on my legs during the drive home after we picked her up, she looked like a little fruit bat with her ears out flat. I remember thinking, “Oh my gosh, what an ugly little dog. What were we thinking?” That thought was short lived though, and before she was ten weeks old she had won my heart. She was tiny enough to wear a little pink Cabbage Patch doll sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up, and when she slept (the only time she was still for any length of time) I would paint her little black toenails a hot pink. When she woke she was a non-stop blur of motion with flashes of pink as she ran around, getting into everyone’s business and letting Shotzy know that she ruled the house. She would grab onto his tail with her mouth and he would stand up and walk away, her front paws off the