"Where's Ray?" asked my lovely husband, Gregg.
"He upstairs watching Pitbulls and Parolees," I replied.
We had installed a TV in our bedroom the week before. I had given Ray a bath and the damp dog was up on our bed, cozily ensconced under his woolie blanket, drying. The last time I had passed the bedroom, Pitbulls and Parolees was on the TV.
"I think we should block pay-per-view," said Gregg. "I don't want him ordering Dogs Gone Wild when we're not home."