Sometimes Hopper gets an erection. He’ll jump on the bed with me and start rolling around and before you know it there’s this huge red thing sticking out like a Twizzler.

I’ve gone from a man standing in my yard holding his dick to a dog in my bed with an erection. Not to mention the kid with the machine-gun penis extension in my driveway.

But every night when I go to bed and think I can’t get up again to walk him four times the next day and that I really can’t give any more of myself to this voracious poopy peanut-butter-breathed creature, he greets me with the most wonderful sweet face and the truest kisses and my heart just melts. “Good boy, Hopper,” I say. “Mommy loves Hopper,” I tell him and fill another Kong with peanut butter.
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