Justin Trudeau: Get a dog

Here is more evidence that Justin Trudeau is really a man of the people.
His family leaves the back door wide open.
In Rockcliffe.
Presumably without flipping the alarm.
What? It's not like somebody would just walk in, pick up a butcher knife and lay waste to the family.
This is Rockcliffe.
It's a lot like Papineauville, except for all the money people have.
And fun things to steal. Like Bose systems.
Priceless artifacts.
We used to leave our doors open, and we live across from a crack house.
Like Justin, we got schooled.
Our tenant was downstairs, minding his own business, and some random crackhead walked right in off the street and sat on his bed and began to conduct a conversation.
"Hey man," the guy told Bill, who was gaming at 2 a.m. "You look pretty cool."
Then the guy left.
Upstairs, we have no worries. We don't lock the doors, either.
We, the poor people, however, learned early how to keep the perps at bay.
We have a dog.
A very big, very loud, very scary looking Labrador-Bernese mix.
I think it's fair to say that anyone who comes into our home, who is up to mischief, will quickly exit.
Finnigan owns a set of the jaws of death.
If Justin had had Finnigan guarding his family while he was out of town, that stupid drunken teenager wouldn't have set foot into his backdoor.
Even the worst, wasted, drug-out human being knows better.
And the best thing is, Finnigan will work for dog chow.
And the occasional treat.
Forty bucks a month, if you buy that stuff at Costco.
He doesn't need a freakin' RCMP detail.
Not like they're anymore effective.
Ask Aline Chretien.
So, Justin and Sophie, take the kids down to the Ottawa Humane Society and get yourself a dog.
A big one.
Preferably a black one.
I hear they are the hardest ones to adopt.