Bad dog! Knock that off! You’re doing it again, you furry beast!
Stop. Breathing. On. Me.

My poor puppy. He’s really a very good boy. My dog is smart, well-behaved, good natured, and speaks English fluently. Well, I suppose I’m exaggerating. He understands English quite clearly, but there are one or two commands that he has yet to master the response to. Such as my — very reasonable, I maintain — request that he cease and desist with the heavy breathing while in my presence.

It’s an unfair request, I know. I mean, I’m asking my dog to stop breathing. But it’s unfair to me as well. Somehow, I can’t breathe myself half the time due to all this pregnancy-related stuffiness. And yet I can smell that nasty dog breath from several feet away, when all the poor pooch is doing is lying in the living room, hoping for some faithful-dog-beneath-the-masters-feet bonding time. He sees me settle myself as gracefully as a hippopotamus into some freakish position on the couch. He thinks, “Okay, I’ll just flop down right beside her on the floor because that’s what good doggies do.” He gets comfortable and soon the happy dog face settles in. You know the one. Where he kind of seems like he’s smiling? And his pink doggie tongue sort of lolls out of his mouth? And he yawns a little and gets really comfy in his spot? Yep, that’s the face. That’s about the time he gets yelled at and told to move elsewhere — like, at least five feet away from me — because I’m a mean psycho dog mommy who feels like hurling every time I get a whiff of his happy, cute, incredibly smelly dog mouth.

I am a cold-hearted Cruella, because even the shocked puppy-dog eyes (“But what did I do? I’m a good boy!”), the flopped-back, disappointed ears, and the forlorn look over the shoulder to confirm that I’m really telling him to leave for no good reason — at least no good reason that he understands — doesn’t change my mind. I seriously cannot handle the doggie breath right now.

Guess I’d better find a good doggie dentist. Or, maybe they make doggie Listerine?