You Can Know a Man by How He Treats His Dog

Photo by Ivan Rojas Urrea

My dog sleeps on the couch, shits outside, and doesn’t wear a collar. Let me elaborate.

The last time I had a dog, I was just sprouting hairs below the belt. Half lab, half dalmatian, we dubbed her a dalmador because labmation sounded, frankly, too fucking creepy. She was the kind of dog that people wrote stories about when they wrote about a boy and his dog. She chased rabbits, brought…