You

You are a hairy fleabag.

You never do a stitch of work.

You lick the faces of complete strangers with the sole intention of underlining my own social inhibitions.

Sometimes you smell like old red wine, a bouquet of damp fur.

Not only are you colour-blind, you also cannot tell the difference between a carpet and a couch.

You pretend that you find the word "no" incomprehensible.

You insist on sharing your unmelodious bark with the entire neighbourhood.

For some reason, you are afraid of statues.

Statues just freak you out.

You are utterly shameless.

You are the laziest, dirtiest, most stubborn and presumptious thing I have ever known in my entire life,

and I think you're perfect.

It's a dog thing.