BooBoo
These human women are seriously annoying. What's with all the screaming over a guy just because he's tall, ripped, health-conscious, good with animals, and can cook?
And on top of that…
He only loves his one lazy-as-hell "wife." Never looks at anyone else. Ugh. Sickening.
But fine, I admit it—kinda enviable. I still don't get what good karma that skinny, long-spined sloth of a human under the blanket upstairs has done to deserve someone like him.
Name's BooBoo. I'm five years old, a Siberian Husky originally bred in Russia. If I were born there, I'd probably be pulling sleds like a champ with my badass cousins.
But being born in hot, humid Asia? Yeah… we huskies lose all the toughness and end up as pretty faces with zero brain cells. Heat makes us crazy, okay?
Anyway, the handsome jerk holding my leash right now isn't even my real owner—he's my owner's husband. His name's Mana.
Yeah. Mana. The lamest old-school name ever, even though he's not from that era. Honestly, who names their kid that?
Still, no matter how outdated the name, he's drop-dead gorgeous, with a killer body, great cooking skills, and a soft spot for animals. No wonder everyone who sees him falls head over heels, ready to throw themselves at him.
Well, tough luck! He's my master's man. No way am I letting anyone else have him.
If I did, I'd end up stuck with that lazy beanpole who can't do anything but sleep all day and "work from home." Half the time when the food runs out, he boils instant noodles and feeds them to me! A Siberian Husky, eating instant noodles! Who does that?
But fine, I can't really blame him—he's just lazy, unbothered, and uninterested in anything that isn't eating or sleeping. That's exactly why his parents got me in the first place: to teach him responsibility. Not that it worked. He's still the same sloth. The one who has to adapt to this lifestyle is me!
"What's wrong, BooBoo?"
Handsome Mana asked when I suddenly stopped in front of a congee stall.
Woof!
"Oh, Dream's congee, huh? Thanks for the reminder."
He reached down to ruffle my fur with one hand while balancing grocery bags in the other, smiling that gentle, princely smile of his. Honestly, my life's been a hell of a lot better ever since I downloaded that Tinder-for-dogs app and found him for Dream three years ago…
Three Years Ago
Creak—slam!
A small one-story house sat in a quiet neighborhood, surrounded by overgrown grass and fallen fruit leaves. Its white paint had long been swallowed by dust, turning almost brown, covering the roof, trees, and fences.
The front door creaked open as an elderly couple stepped inside, dressed neatly in traditional clothes that smelled faintly of fresh fabric softener. Their eyes swept across what was once a tidy home—now buried in chaos.
Cardboard boxes, foam containers, and overflowing trash bags piled by the door. Dust and cobwebs coated the furniture. Empty snack wrappers and takeaway containers cluttered the table, while the floor was littered with sunflower seed shells, peanut husks, soda cans, and beer bottles.
On the couch, towels, shirts, pants—and even underwear—hung messily over the backrest.
Thud!
"DREAM! WAKE UP THIS INSTANT!"
The elderly man in a plaid shirt bellowed so loudly that his wife flinched, covering her ears. But the thin young man sprawled across the couch, long wavy hair covering his face, candy still in his mouth, didn't stir in the slightest.
"…." He lay there like a corpse practicing for his funeral.
"Oh, so you're not gonna get up?"
"…."
Stomp, stomp, stomp—SMACK!
"OWWW!"
"You're twenty-five already, Dream. Graduated three years ago, and this is still how you live? Disgusting!"
"…I—"
"Didn't your mother teach you not to be such a slob? You're so skinny you look like a drug addict—no girl would look twice at you! Acting useless like this, who'd ever want you?"
"Aw, Mom…"
"Your father and I are staying here for three days!"
"Three days?! But what about the garden back in Nan?"
"At first we didn't want to come all the way to Bangkok, but we knew it'd be like this. From now on, we'll be visiting often, you ungrateful brat!"
"C'mon, Dad—you know I'm just an artsy type. The mess helps with inspiration."
"Inspiration, my ass! This isn't artsy, this is filth. Lazy, feral, a parasite leeching off humanity!"
He ranted until he was out of breath.
"You get what I'm saying, Dream?"
Snoreee~
"…He fell asleep the moment you started yelling."
The old woman sighed as she swept the floor, glancing at her husband—arms crossed, face red with anger, while their only son snored peacefully.
"Sweet dreams, son!"
"…Yes, Mom…"