April 24, 2009
Right as I was going to write this terribly amusing blog post about a lemonade stand, a rhinoceros, and a lady named Marge, my dog decided to hurl. I was just about to pop open the lid to my lap top when she looked over at me with her sad glossy black eyes and then proceeded to barf all over my rug. Afterwards she stood over it for a second or two, and I could tell by her posture that she really wanted to sniff it and possibly eat it. Well, no siree, sister, we are not a family of barf-eaters! So get your furry little behind outside, while I try to salvage what’s left of our sad, sad rug.
As I was cleaning her vomit piles, I wondered, what the heck made her sick? She eats the same exact thing everyday. EVERYDAY. SAME. THING. Oh, and not only that, but she does the same thing EVERYDAY. It’s always: wake up, scratch, lick stuff, go on a walk, eat, lay down for 6 hours, scratch, lick stuff, go on another walk, and then lay down. My first thought was that she’s hungover, but then I was like, when does she have time for drinking binges? She has a pretty ridged, and hectic schedule as is, she can’t possibly fit that in. Then I thought Oh, shit, she’s preggy. That little tramp. But double no. Because she’s a virgin, and she’s fixed. Then I started to feel like a bad mom. Poor pug never gets to experience life. She’s stuck in my home, no sex, no alcohol. No wonder why she threw up on my rug, she’s sick of it, and I don’t blame her, I’d be sick of it too if all I did was lay around on a stack of pillows all day with interruptions for licking stuff and eating. Wait, no. I take it back. No, Zoey, you pretty much have my dream job.