I'm a great daddy. I'm a terrible daddy.

I'm a great daddy. I'm a terrible daddy. I guess the truth is really a matter of perspective. If you ask our dogs, Annie, Molly, and Sammi, I'm the most wonderful, fun, generous, loving daddy a girl could have. If you ask my vet, I'm too generous, too undisciplined, and I spoil my girls. On that, we agree. 

A bag like this is more powerful than a magnet for my dogs. 

It's hard for me to say "no" to them. We don't have kids, and so, they are our kids. I want them to be happy. I want them to be happy, because, I didn't have much as a kid growing up. I wasn't spoiled. I want them to be happy, because, every time I see a story about an abused animal, it tears me up, and I want to beat some human for being so cruel to a defenseless animal. Maybe I'm trying to compensate for the inhumane treatment that some animals go through, in my own way. So, my girls are spoiled. You can tell just by the names we gave our dogs. The three that my wife and I had together that are now gone, and the three that currently allow us to live with them, all have had elegant, rich-girl names: Lexi's formal name was Alexandra. Cleo's formal name was Cleopatra. Maggie was Maggie May. The current girls include Sammi (Samantha Jo), Molly (Molly Mia), and Annie (Annabelle Joy). 

But here's how you really know that our little girls are spoiled beyond belief: every time they hear a package crinkling, being ripped open, like a bag of Cheetos, they come running. I had a granola bar in my hands, just minutes ago, and I realized I'd wake them up if I opened it - so I took it into another room, and opened it surreptitiously, like I was a spy or something. That's what I've been reduced to, eating and hiding, relying on subterfuge, so I could eat the whole thing myself. I love my dogs more than anyone can believe, but I think my vet is right.