If my puppy were a person, he would be a football-playing, beer-guzzling, final-exam-missing, frat boy. Definitely the rough-and-tumble type. He has always been trouble, whether that be the time he swallowed a bunny (whole) or when he finds mud and animal guts in which to bathe or when he steals food from the kitchen countertop: steak, sticks of butter, loaves of banana bread, half of my high-school graduation sheet-cake. If he weren’t so loveable, he would be a giant shithead.

But in his older years, he has gotten quite mellow. So mellow that when my mom and sister got drunk on Sunday’s happy hour (one of my mom’s favorite family traditions) they decided to test just how tolerant the dog has become:

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The wine might have helped, but they thought this was HILARIOUS — and he was happy for the attention. Oh, my pathetic little slack-kneed, white-face, old-man dog … what a goofy little shit…

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