It’s 8:00 p.m. on a Sunday. The house is quiet. Eerily so. My wife has retreated to the bedroom with a book and a “do not disturb” look. My friends have stopped answering my texts, and even the neighbors, who once welcomed my company, now seem to pull their blinds when they see me coming. Why? Because it’s WWE SummerSlam night, and I have opinions. Loud, passionate, endless opinions.
But I’m not alone. There, sprawled across the living room rug, is my loyal sidekick: Poppy, my dog. She’s the only one in the house who doesn’t roll her eyes when I start ranting about John Cena’s latest comeback or Brock Lesnar’s mysterious motives. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s starting to recognize the theme music. The moment the first guitar riff blares from the TV, her ears perk up. Maybe she’s expecting a treat, or maybe she’s just bracing herself for another night of my animated commentary. Continue reading
