You know those moments in conversations when you say something, something you think is funny or at least adds to whatever's being discussed, and then everyone ends up staring at you? Time just stops. They just look at you, eyes boring into your soul, and in that moment you would really like to rewind time, because now everything's horrible and awkward.

These are the dog-related conversation-stoppers I've restrained from slipping out of my mouth.

• I have purposely dropped food on the floor.

"Oh, oh no! Oh, shoot. My chicken just fell off the plate by itself. Oh dear—the dog just ate it. I'm sorry. Was he allowed to have that? No? I'm so sorry," and then I stare at the dog, quietly informing him that I definitely meant to do that. You're welcome, little buddy.

• I avoid people who don't like dogs like the plague, and I plot against those who don't like my dog.

You have to like my dog if we're going to be friends. You have to like dogs at all if we're going to be friends. Also, my dog has to like you, otherwise I don't trust you. I'm sorry, I don't make the rules. Oh wait—I do.

• The only way to wake me up without infuriating me is if you don't at all. My dog has to.

I'd let him get away with this, too.

• If the dog is in the car, he gets shotgun. Everyone else gets in the back.

I have moved my own sister to the back of the car so our dog can ride up front with me. Permanent shotgun privileges are allotted to any dog in my car.

• Any dog I own will be a huggy dog, or I will make them one.

When I first hugged my dog, he was very startled. That was three years ago. Today, he just stands there and stares at everyone like, "Are you seeing this crap?"

• My dog is my family. He is my baby. He gets to do anything humans can. It's fine.

He goes on the trampoline too, and he gets to swim in the pool.

• Speaking of that, I sacrifice comfort to let my dog take up the entire bed.

He settles in before me, and then I'll make a spot for myself.

• I have cancelled plans just to hang out with my dog, and I'd do it again.

"No, I can't hang out today. My dog is being really cute. You can come here, though."

• If I had to choose how to go, it would be by dog.

"Do you mind if I let my dog in? He might bark at you or jump on you. I can leave him outside if you want, though." No. Let the dog in. Let the dog in. I do not fear death, so long as a giant mound of fluff and joy brings it upon me. Let the dog in.

• My dog gets a spot on the couch, and you have to move so I can sit by him.

I translate movie night to cuddle-with-my-dog-night. I am not apologizing, so move over. Only I get to sit by my dog.

• I sniff my dog's feet.

You read that right, I sniff my dog's feet. They smell great. I would get an air-freshener called "Dog Feet." I would put it in my car and put my friend's faces on it. I would customize it so it smells like my dog's feet. Dog feet everywhere.

• My self-esteem for the day is based on how my dog reacts to me.

That's what a good day looks like.

• I don't mind the smell of wet dog.

I'd venture to say I enjoy it. Whatever.

• No matter what, I love my dog the most. He is my best friend. I tell him everything, dry my tears on his fur, and threaten people with violence when they are mean to him. He's my universe. Fight me about it.