My first dog when I was a boy was a half breed poodle. Man, was that a mean little critter. He used to sleep in my bed or my brothers bed, and every time I wanted to turn over he bit in my legs. One night he came into our bedroom and shit on the carpet, so we had to get up and clean it. We didn't let him shave very often, so most of the time he looked like a walking doormat, but when he got his haircut he looked like a real french poodle, in those periods we weren't very excited to walk him. The only good thing about him was, that the girl nextdoor (who was gorgeous) was very fond of him and wanted to give him a hug every time she saw him. He died in my arms after a heartattack and I cried because it was the first time someone I loved died.

Best regards,

Bopper.