“When a man’s best friend is his dog, that dog has a problem.”
I never had a pet growing up. My parents bought me five fish when I was about nine years old. The fish all got ick and died in a couple of months. Down the toilet they went, and that was the last of my experience in being responsible for the life of another being until I was 34 years old.
Then, we got Redford. He and his brother were dropped off in a box and kept in a shelter. He was very lucky because he got a FANTASTIC foster mom who trained him well. I think if we hadn’t have adopted him when we did, she would have.
I used to think that pet owners were crazy. Nobody could possibly have such affection and adoration for an animal. An animal, for goodness sakes.
I was wrong.
Ignorance wasn’t bliss.
Oftentimes, when we have to encourage him to not take his leisurely time sniffing something interesting or stop him from snacking on some piece of food left on the side of the road, my wife and I joke to each other that he is probably muttering to himself “my parents just don’t understand.”
So, I decided to test my dog’s intelligence. I am a personal finance expert, after all. What could my dog know about personal finance that I don’t?
So, without further ado, here is my dog.