Thursday, May 10, 2007


My dog is going crazy. I think he must have the equivalent of senile dementia in canines. We can't keep him in balls. He misplaces his drug of choice all over the yard, the neighbor dog's yard, drops it out the bed of the truck whilst going for a ride...fortunately, right now it's between his paws, much like a cigarette, matches, and ashtray. He's go if need be. We just found the ball yesterday after two days of the dog frantically searching the premises every time someone twitched a foot, causing him to think we were going "outside." Dog gets up and paces every night, nosing the bed sheets to see if anyone wants to wake up at 3 am to play. No, dog. Go lay down. It's not time. At 5am, when 2/3 of the house is upright and fumbling around with the coffee filters, it's the stomping hoof horse show. Finally, someone grabs the ball and huffs it from the porch so dog will go pee. The dog days of summer are here early this year. Dog is not relaxed, constantly panting and wanting to go do something. Keys jingle?? Well, that must mean a ride. So starts the stomping hoof horse show at the front door. No dog. Just going to work. I love my dog. He stinks, but I care not. He lives here; you don't

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