The suburban loser buys a new dog, an all-black female miniature schnauzer from Hazelwitch Farms, the same breeder where they bought their last dog a few years ago, an all-black male miniature schnauzer. Maybe it's because both his sons are off at college, but the suburban loser finds himself obsessed with the new dog in a way he never was with the old one. He buys dozens of collars to match different seasons and holidays, and when both his sons come home to visit one weekend, he lays them all out on the coffee table, edge to edge covered in technicolor dog collars. When the eldest son asks if these collars will even fit the small puppy that's curled up in the corner of the couch like a currant, the suburban loser tells him he pre-bought these for many years ahead, pointing out one collar with snowmen and another with elves as an example. These will be used for two different Christmas times, he says. He finds out about a schnauzers at the beach weekend taking place on the west coast of Florida and surprises his wife with tickets. Around that same time, he stops buying raw dog food directly from the breeder after they send him a strange, rambling email about constitutionally invalid business transactions. Having heard the horrors about dry kibbled food and what it can do to a dog's liver, the suburban loser decides to make his own food and spends an evening stewing big pots of turkey, kale, and lentils before portioning the mixture into zip lock bags that he packs in a cooler for the plane. The morning of the flight, he comes out of the bedroom wearing a shirt that says The Dogfather tucked into a pair of white jeans. His wife says he looks fruity and she takes a picture of the suburban loser holding his little dog in the dark early morning with her matching magenta leash and collar, his left hand clutching a piece of printer paper designating the dog as an emotional support animal that can stay with him on the flight. Shortly after takeoff, the suburban loser smells the sugary fish scent of the dog’s anal glands. Then the dog takes a shit all over his lap, even spraying the back of the seat. A flight attendant gives him a handful of napkins as his wife buries her face into her hands and someone in the next row over gags. The suburban loser hears another passenger say The Dogfather in a mocking voice and pretends not to notice. He thinks back to the afternoon he took his wife to The Gap where he noticed the white jeans and wishes he had surrendered to the moment of hesitation.