On Friday, at 11am. They're going to inspect my house, to determine my eligibility to foster some godforsaken pug thing. I can't decide if I want to try and do something about all the exposed wiring and bowls full of household chemicals sitting in all the corners, or not. Because, yes, foster pugs deserve to live in a safe environment, but really, how safe should it be? Do we want to give the little puggies unrealistic expectation of their future conditions? Should we let them become accustomed to a world without sharp edges and exciting opportunities for gastrointestinal distress? I think not.