The Bad

At the risk of offending a good portion of you - well, what risk? You're probably wondering where the real Leah has gone - I have to reiterate that I hate dogs. I can't understand why people have them. They're filthy. And they wreak havoc. So this is what happened.

I mentioned that the family whose room I rent is really strange. That's not a problem, as I've accustomed myself to strangeness. In fact I fear that I sometimes seek it. But they have two evil dogs, which, sensing, knowing that I detest their slobber and filth, wait for me to open the door. Really, they wait. I can hear them panting and scratching, and, when I have to use the bathroom, I try to "hold it" until they're gone. But the other day, I had to go. I tried my squeeze-out-the-door approach (and it's a good thing I'm skinny), but they burst into the room and attacked everything. It was caos - in italiano, un casino. They tore paints, shirt, jacket, sleeping bag. Slobbered all over my food. Peed on the bed.

So do people just live with this? The stench, the pee, the torn clothes, the hassle? As if there were any question about about my stance on man's best friend: I hereby declare that dogs can go to the devil.