Sunday, August 3, 2008

Bailey, you suck.

Bailey is my dog. A cockapoo, to be exact, is what she is, a five-month-old cockapoo. She makes me insane. Try six hours of the morning alone in a tiny cabin in the middle of the woods with no electronics, a five-month-old cockapoo, several different insect infestations, and an eight-year-old boy, and you will see what I mean.

Or try three and a half hours in the car driving to the animal hospital after said cockapoo has consumed a plate of 70% cacao truffles and is spazzing and panting and jumping up and down on your knees, giving you scratches and scars that look like you've been cutting yourself, and you will probably get the same drift.

Or better yet, try eating the first real food you've had all day while watching this very same dratted cockapoo vomit intensely for a very long time, and the same state of mind will most likely begin to grow on you.

Lucky me, I got to do all three yesterday when the fifth of a series of six guests to visit my family this summer left a gift arrangement of truffles on a low-lying table after--and this is the killer--already having seen Bailey jump onto that table. She, of course, had to promptly fly into disaster mode and interrupt my mom's class, yelling about "an emergency with the dog," which made my mom think Bailey had run away or been hit.

So we ventured off to the animal hospital--of course it had to be a Saturday, when the vet was closed--and the guest ventured off to the airport. Yes, she left. She stayed for one night, poisoned our dog, and left. Quite a pleasant woman.

Basically, I had such a wonderful day yesterday that I don't even have the energy left to tell you about it, especially because I'm working on some typing for my mom that she's paying me 20 bucks for, and I need the money.

Uh-oh, ominous wind. Sounds like another tornado, almost. Bye.

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