06/12/2026
So... I adopted a Irish Wolfhound
And I’m starting to suspect I accidentally brought home the ghost of a Victorian theatre kid with abandonment issues and a gym obsession.
She follows me everywhere.
🚽 Bathroom? There. Staring into my soul.
🍳 Kitchen? Practically breathing down my neck like Gordon Ramsay.
🚪 Taking out the trash? She watches from the doorway like I’m being shipped off to war and she’s the heartbroken heroine whispering, “Come back to me…”
She doesn’t sit.
She poses — legs crossed, head tilted, like she’s in a black-and-white Chanel ad.
✨ Dramatic sighs if I ignore her for five seconds.
🥣 Once refused to eat dinner because her bowl wasn’t “facing the right way.”
And the zoomies?
Lord have mercy.
One fleeting existential crisis and she’s bolting through the house like she’s being chased by the IRS.
She’s:
Licked every window in the house
Learned how to open the fridge
Once stole a banana, peeled it herself, and left the skin on my pillow like a warning from the Fruit Cartel 🍌💀
I’ve bought every so-called “indestructible” toy.
She unstuffed them all like she was digging for buried treasure.
Then — someone mentioned
Beer Bottle with Tennis Ball Toy from: https://shorturl.at/hUBXA
I caved.
She’s been carrying it around like it’s her emotional support squid ever since.
Tosses it. Wrestles it.
Sometimes just gently rests her chin on it like they’ve survived the trenches together.
It’s still intact.
Which is more than I can say for:
👟 my shoes
📺 my remote
🧠 and my remaining sanity.
