If I ever win the lottery, I’m not telling anyone.
But there WILL be signs. 🐾💰😂
Some people say, “If I win, I’m buying a mansion.”
Cute.
I’m buying acreage.
Not for horses.
Not for farming.
For DOGS.
An absolutely irresponsible number of dogs.
I want so many dogs that when Amazon comes up the driveway, the driver just whispers:
“Oh dear God… not this house.”
And these dogs will NOT be roughing it.
Absolutely not.
My dogs will live like tiny, hairy billionaires. 👑🐶
There will be heated floors, orthopedic beds, a swimming pool, air conditioning, a fenced-in forest and a toy room larger than my first apartment.
Will they use their $900 orthopedic beds?
Of course not.
They’ll all be sleeping sideways in MY bed while I cling to six inches of mattress like a woman trying not to fall off a cruise ship.
Naturally, we’ll need a personal chef.
No more scooping kibble into a bowl like peasants.
The chef will come out and announce:
“Tonight, Winston will be having free-range chicken with organic sweet potato and a delicate beef reduction.”
Meanwhile Winston is outside eating something he found beside the shed that hasn’t been identified yet.
CHEF! HE’S EATING A LEAF AGAIN!
We’ll also have a resident veterinarian.
Not “our vet is ten minutes away.”
No.
I want one living on the property.
They can have a guest house.
Free rent.
Beautiful view.
Only one small condition:
You are NEVER off duty. 😂
Because if one of my dogs makes a weird noise at 2:13 a.m., I’m not lying awake Googling:
“Dog sighed differently than usual — dying???”
I’ll simply pick up the house phone.
“Dr. Steve. It’s Susan. Winston blinked funny. Bring your bag.”
There will also be a groomer, a dog masseuse and someone whose sole responsibility is throwing tennis balls.
That person will eventually require rotator-cuff surgery.
Luckily…
WE HAVE A VET ON STAFF.
Okay, wrong doctor.
We’ll hire an orthopedic surgeon too.
At this point, apparently, I’ve opened a hospital.
And every dog will have a ridiculous royal title.
Sir Winston of Snackington.
Lady Maggie of Muddy Paws.
Duke Barkington the Third.
And somewhere on the property there will be one ancient Labrador who hasn’t moved from the couch since Tuesday but somehow knows EVERY TIME a cheese wrapper opens.
As for me?
I’ll be sitting in the middle of a field wearing sweatpants, drinking coffee and being crushed beneath 14 Labradors who all firmly believe they’re lap dogs.
So if I suddenly disappear after the lottery numbers are announced, please don’t worry.
Just drive into the country.
When you see a huge property with a swimming pool, a veterinary clinic, a commercial kitchen and 37 Labradors running toward the gate…
You’ll know.
I won.
There were signs. 😂🐾💰
And not one single dog will know we’re rich.
They’ll just think Mom finally came to her senses.
— Arctic Blonde Society 🩷
#ArcticBlondeSociety #IfIWinTheLottery #ThereWillBeSigns #DogMomLife #BlackLabs #LabradorLove #DogsAreFamily #Over60Humor #WomenOver60 #DogLovers
