Yesterday my valiant husband took on the case of a cute little small breed mix dog who was in need of a little medical attention. We had a projected trip to Fairbanks on the books, which happened to fall, well, today.
After taking her to the vet and getting things sorted out there, we snuck her into our hotel room because these are the kinds of Assholes we are. Well, not really but I will damned if we lose our money by canceling the reservation, and it’s not like she barks, and the poor dog only weighs in at 4.8 pounds so she was easy to get past the chick at the counter who was more interested in texting than policing what’s under my coat anyway.
After we got settled, we did what any smuggling criminal family does: we sent Maurice to get us Chinese and an obnoxious pink parka for Lola the Mangy Toy Puppy.
Except now it’s nearly 1 a.m. and in addition to laying here wide awake and violently ill with MSG poisoning, Lola the Cute has decided that she likes to whine and bark. And shit in her kennel.
My fortune cookie told me that happiness would bring me luck, so I’m going to assume that means that tomorrow, a very kind, lonely old woman will approach us in Pet Co. and ask us if we would like to hand responsibility for Lola over to her. Right after she reveals herself as a genie and discloses her magic cure for lower intestinal issues caused by monosodium glutamate. At this point I don’t even think I’d bother to ask if she was in reality a heavy drug user.
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One comment
She’s cute as pie.