The husband called me this afternoon: “Honey? There’s a lady I work with whose mother is going into hospice, and she has dogs, and there’s this one dog that showed up at their–”
Me: “No.”
Husband: “Aw, come on. It’s housebroken, and it’s a sweet–”
Me: “No.”
Husband: “But this–”
Me: “No.”
Husband: “–woman’s mother is–”
Me: “No.”
Husband: “Okay, I’ll give you some time to think about it.”
Me: “No.”

About an hour later.

Husband calls: “You should see the pictures of this dog. He’s adorable and–”
Me: “Great! Then I’m sure he’ll find an awesome home!”
Husband: “Did I mention he’s housebroken?”
Me: “Who’s going to walk him, feed him, and clean up after him? Me!”
Husband: “But he’s housebroken!”
Me: “We don’t have a fenced yard. Who’s going to walk him, feed him–”
Husband: [hangs up, laughing]

Later still, Husband and I meet at Kid’s school to trade cars. I get into his car and see a picture of a yellow lab-type dog propped in the center console. I grab the picture and get out.

Me: “Honey! You forgot your picture. You’ll need this to help you find someone to take the dog!”
Husband: “Oh my, did I forget and leave that there? How careless of me! Isn’t that a beautiful dog?”
Me: “Yes, it is! Wow, you should have no trouble finding someone to take it in!”
Husband: [laughing and shaking head] “You’re cold.”
Me: “Yep! And I’m also not picking up dog poop!”