“Is this your ing dog?!” The Dober-owner called as Wonsik came running, too out of breath to respond with “literally”. He went on to grab Hotdog’s leash as the other owner tugged on his own, both working together to separate the star struck lovers consummating their godly right of procreation. But it was too late, because Hotdog eventually slid off on his own, looking as smug as one would look after passionate love making, and pranced back to Wonsik, oblivious to his owner’s blatant disapproval.

“What the , man?!” The Dober-owner exclaimed again, and Wonsik noted his third F-bomb in a row. “Is he neutered?!”

“Uh, no,” Wonsik admitted. “Is… she spayed?” He asked after bending down to determine the of the Doberman.

“No!” The owner yelled back. “Oh my god, this is a disaster,” He went on to slide his hands over his face dramatically and then waved an angry finger at his panting Doberman. “Bad, Daisy! Bad girl!”