Moochie

“I'm sorry about your face Moochie.” I tell him that all the time. We never had a pug-faced dog before. He looks like a misguided genetic experiment. But he doesn't care and walks over to sit directly on my feet and toes. This is while I'm standing in the kitchen doing stuff. “You expect me to freeze in this position so as not to disturb you? Get off my feet!” He just looks at me...with that face. “Maybe we could transplant a long nose on you like Sasha has...would you like that boy? Maybe we could put your head on Sasha's long elegant body, would that be good? Like in the old Twilight Zone episode when Billy Mummy would wish people into the cornfield but only after he wished them into composite monsters? Would that be good?" No answer from him other than giving me the face...