People never seem to talk about the worst part of pet ownership. I'm not talking about the poop on your floor or that day you have to say goodbye. No. I'm talking about the day you find your adorable pet has killed something cute and small in a totally brutal way. Molly is the Robespierre of dogs, because all I ever find in my yard are decapitated animals. 









Where are the heads?! Every time I watch a nature documentary, I see a lion starting its disgusting chow-down with the belly meat. It is so logical! That's where all the fat is! But every time Molly kills something, the head is the first thing to go. I don't know, maybe she's looking for a brain?

Friend, can you picture yourself shoveling the bottom half of a squirrel into your neighbors' yard while they're out at church, because the trash doesn't get picked up for four more days?* 

 You're not ready for a pet.


*Don't worry. My yard backs up to a natural area. My neighbors are lucky that way.



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