Pretend you live in a world where dogs can cook food and clean the kitchen write a story about this scene from the dog‘s point of you he is happy to be cooking or would he rather just lay around the house as you write include the setting thoughts and feelings dialogue precise verbs and vivid ideas.

2018 is almost over, and with it will come the end of the year of the dog. Halle-freakin-lujah. These furry creatures already get enough attention without an official 365-day period of dedication. From the endless Instagram dog accounts to the bulldogs stopping traffic on the streets, they’re everywhere I turn. You will not catch me cooing every time a furry four-legged beast comes my way. Here’s the thing: I hate dogs.

Cue the inevitable cries of shock, disgust, and terror. “How can that be possible?” friends and strangers alike always ask me. “Are you even human?” they’ll ponder after watching me remain indifferent in the presence of a palm-sized pooch.

Supposedly, humanity rests in pet adoration. Those that are decidedly disinterested in four legged-friends are stigmatized outsiders. I’m tired of having to apologize for my opinions or mitigate the intensity of my feelings just to appease the puppy-crazed masses.  No, I do not like dogs, and no, I am not a cold-blooded monster.

My disdain for dogs comes from how I grew up. My family attempted to adopt a Bernese Mountain Dog when I was eight. “Attempted” is the key word. Her name was Romy and she quickly became the family chore as opposed to the family friend. She required time and energy constantly. Quite frankly, we Gallardos are simply not pet people. It’s in our genes.

Explanation:

the answer would be, she updates her online profiles regularly and participates in work-related online discussions.