Rules For Interacting With My Dog

This is my dog — her name is Princess Alice Gertrude McBeal Miller, the 4th, Duchess of Dog. You may call her Princess, Alice, Her Royal Highness, and if you’ve earned extra special favor from the royal family, you may call her Gert. I wouldn’t hold my breath for that last one, I’ll warn you.

Since every good looking party boy who works at the groomers thinks that its okay to play grab-ass with my little girl, I have to put away Fun-Loving-Author-Of-Books, A.P. Miller away, and break out Mr. Miller. Mr. Miller is exactly what you think of him as; Mr. Miller wants to argue with the store manager over expired coupons, Mr. Miller wants a free stay at a hotel because there were only two towels (and not three), and Mr. Miller has strong opinions about how the youth these days doesn’t work as hard as his generation. I don’t like being that guy, but when guy smiley is walking out of the grooming area with an arm full of the world’s most beautiful dog, looking pleased with himself that he got to hold her in his arms, then my hand has been forced.

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