Numero Uno:I dropped Marley off to get her cherry eye surgery this morning. It's been a long time coming, yet I still had nightmares all night about impossible disfigurements to ensue. And now as I wait an eternity to hear back from the Vet letting me know all is well, I find myself catching my breath every time the phone goes off.
Numero Dos:
(I forgot this from my 'Diatribe')
What gives people the right to tell me I better get my dog on a diet? She's not a slim dog, she isn't meant to be. I am told by professionals, not you, weird man on my elevator this morning, that her stature is to be expected. How many thin adult beagles and pugs have you known? I think all elevator dialogue should remain within the realm of current and upcoming weather. The end.
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