Brendan came over yesterday after work and told me that the Taco Bell dog died.  I don’t remember my exact words to Brendan about it, but I can sum up my general statements thusly:

1. I hated those commercials.
2. I hated it even more when people would meet Maude and be all “Yo quiero Taco Bell,” like that joke was
   1. funny or
   2. original.
3. How sad for the owner of that dog.
4. But at least she had a good long life and was well cared for.
5. Oh no, that makes me sad about when Maude’s going to die! And that makes me want to hug Maude! C’mere, Maude!

To which Brendan said, “Yeah, that’s why I broke the news to you in person instead of e-mailing it to you. Since I knew you’d be sad hearing about a dead Chihuahua, I thought I’d make sure I was here when you found out. You know, for moral support.”

How well does that guy know me?  Damn.*

Oh, and 6. Maude’s cuter than the Taco Bell dog, but I don’t think she has the mental acumen to perform for cameras.

*And then this morning Brendan told me that last night he had a dream that he was growing dogs in a garden. Each row of his garden had a different breed–collies, German shepherds, Chihuahuas, etc.

“The garden wasn’t too big, so I guess it was a small operation. I was like a subsistence-level dog farmer.”

“You ATE them?”

“No, I think I sold them. But the funniest part was seeing this collie sticking halfway out of the ground, barking at me.”

“Ha!”

“I know! Oh, and the Chihuahuas grew in bunches.”

The image of Chihuahuas growing out of the ground in bunches is totally making my day.