I tried again

I'm so sorry little Tucker. Your would-be daddy is not budging. He and I are on totally different pages about the need for another dog. To him, it's not even worthy of a conversation. To me, it's at least worth some begging cleverly disguised as very mature, rational-sounding, convincing points of fact.

The points of fact?

We used to have three dogs. What's two now? Two would be easy.

Tucker wouldn't shed. I'm just sure he wouldn't. Whiskey doesn't; so I'm positive no other dog of similar breeding would either. (I'm so using someone else's dog to do my dirty work. Sorry about that Whisk. There's a treat in it for you soon, I promise.)

We really don't go on vacation very often. Why worry about a few measly days when we could have weeks, months, years, of sweet puppy kisses?

I'm the one at home most days. I'll be the one to let Tucker out, take him to the vet, make sure he gets along with Frankie.

You see? All very rational statements.

I know... I know... It's not what you say, it's the tone you use (as so evidenced by Tom Selleck in Three Men and a Baby. Remember that movie?!) To be totally transparent here, I should admit that perhaps my *discussions* about the acquisition of a new canine are not without a slight lilt to my voice.

All of this is to stay I'm still a loser in the dog argument arena. Somehow, we're supposedly in an equal marriage, yet all Rob has to say is NO, and it is so.

Does that mean I secretly know he's right, or that I'm just not fighting hard enough?!