05/13/2026
I should probably start by saying—I’m a 34-year-old man who had never owned a pet before.
Then my ex left,
and suddenly my apartment became painfully quiet.
My therapist suggested,
“Maybe take care of something living.”
I thought she meant a plant.
Instead, I somehow agreed to foster two 10-week-old Pug brothers from an overcrowded rescue.
“Just two weeks,” the coordinator said.
“They’re easy puppies.”
That should’ve been my first warning.
Day one:
One of them climbed directly onto my chest, sighed dramatically, and immediately fell asleep snoring loud enough to vibrate my ribs.
The other stared at me for a full minute before sneezing directly into my face.
That’s when I realized Pugs aren’t normal dogs.
They’re tiny chaotic roommates with breathing issues.
Day three:
One learned where I kept the treats.
The other learned guilt works better than obedience.
I woke up every morning trapped underneath two warm potato-shaped puppies snoring like middle-aged men after Thanksgiving dinner.
Comfortable?
Not remotely.
Did I move them?
Absolutely not.
Day five:
I bought them an expensive orthopedic dog bed.
Memory foam.
Cooling fabric.
Very classy.
They ignored it completely
and continued sleeping directly on my chest like furry paperweights. 🐾
Nobody tells you this about Pugs —
they love you in the funniest, clingiest way possible.
Not gracefully.
Not quietly.
Completely.
One follows me to the bathroom every single day like it’s a group activity.
The other loses his mind anytime I stop petting him for more than three seconds.
And the noises…
good lord, the noises.
Snorting.
Grunting.
Tiny dramatic sighs.
One of them sounds like an old lawn mower when he gets excited.
At the two-week mark, the rescue coordinator called.
“Good news! One puppy got adopted.
The other may take longer.”
I looked down at both Pugs asleep on top of me.
One was twitching in his sleep.
The other had his tiny paw resting on my stomach like he paid rent.
“No,” I said immediately.
“No… to the adoption?”
“They stay together. I’m keeping both.”
Long silence.
“You said you’d never had a dog before.”
I looked around my apartment:
fur everywhere,
half-chewed slippers,
two snoring Pugs stretched across my chest,
and a luxury dog bed collecting dust in the corner.
For the first time in months…
the apartment didn’t feel lonely anymore.
“Send me the paperwork.”
Later my therapist asked how the “houseplant” was doing.
Right as she asked,
one Pug snorted himself awake,
fell off the couch,
then immediately climbed back onto me.
I sent her a photo.
She replied:
“…that is the least plant-like creature I’ve ever seen.”
Correct.
It’s louder.
Needier.
Way gassier.
And honestly?
Way better. 🖤🐶
📍 Foster fail anniversary: 4 months
And they still refuse to sleep unless they’re touching me somehow.
