You came home from a get together with the girls, a little tipsy, stumbling over your own two feet, to find Billy, and a bulldog laying across the couch, tongue hanging out. “You got a...dog?” You said, unsure.

“They were gonna put him down. Frankie and I found him when the kids were pickin’ out a pet.” Billy said, watching you.

“Named him Tank. Ain’t he a little fatty?” Billy grinned affectionately. Tank barked, drooling on the couch, with a permanent grin on his face.