Sunday, May 27, 2007

following me around like a puppy dog.

Well, she is a dog.

But seriously, she won't stop following me around. Everywhere I go, she's underfoot. I can't decide if she's grateful that I finally took her to the vet and got her seventeen different medications or if she's trying to make sure she knows where I am at all times so she can plot her revenge for the countless medications I'm shoving down her throat, the drops in her ears, drops in her eyes and showers she's getting.

She feels so much better, though, and she looks better. And, well, she could have rolled around in garbage and still smelled better than she did. But she wags her tail again. And honestly, you don't know how much you care about a dog until she won't wag her tail when you look her in the eye and talk to her.

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