If I'd have known having a sick dog would get me THIS much attention, I'd have offed her years ago. Look how her tail's still going, even though I know she's waiting for her pain pill to kick in right now. Oh, my girl.
Please don't be offended if I don't answer your email to me, or your instant message on Facebook: At this point, I'd be spending my whole workday answering messages of goodwill for Tallulah, which is a not bad problem to have. There has also been little advice, which is also nice of you, thank you.
I heard from the vet again yesterday, who is now calling herself "Allison" instead of Dr. Insert Name Here, which always struck me as an odd name anyway. I feel like there was a screwup at Ellis Island that her family is continuing to ignore. She'd consulted with an oncologist, because she's a total hypochondriac, and I am hilarious in times of trouble. When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary gets annoyed with me.
Anyway, none of it was what you'd call encouraging news, but I have a new prescription to pick up for Talu at a human pharmacy, not that I'm getting on top of a person and getting pills out of his mouth or anything. It's a fancy kind of pharmacy, called a confounded pharmacy or something, so I guess Yosemite Sam owns it. So I look forward to getting drugs for my varmint there.
Yosemite Sam and Foghorn Leghorn were kind of the same person. Except one of them was a chicken or whatever. But sort of obstinate and full of themselves. Did they ever meet? I feel like Yosemite Sam would have taken one look at Foghorn Leghorn and had himself some delicious wings in no time. Which, as my mother would say, is real rude.
Oh my god, do not let me forget to tell you about my mother and her friend rescuing three starving dogs from a park. I have no time today to go into it, but trust me. And they were literally rescued. Would you like to know what I'm sick of? Everyone's self-congratulatory, "He's a rescue."
He's a rescue. Did you pull him out of a burning building? Look. The only place I want people getting their pets is from a shelter, or perhaps stolen off the side of a road. You bought a dog? That's a bad thing. But can't we just say, oh, maybe, I got him from a shelter? He's a shelter dog? He's a rescue. It annoys. And I'm sure I've said it, myself. It's one of those things where I'm my regular hateful self and all of a sudden it annoyed the shit out of me one day and that was it. It's up there with "I never watch TV." Oh, shut up. Fucking pseudo-intellectual. You never watch TV because you're watching nine hours a day of porn.
I just finished a brownie, because nutrients, and crumpled up the paper towel on which said brownie was resting, and as I kvetched to you, the paper towel scooted out of my sight. Iris was hiding behind the computer and is now the proud owner of a paper towel.
Iris was a rescue.
In other news, the Alexes got me a Scarlett O'Hara cupcake yesterday. There's this ludicrously good cupcake shop here, as I guess there is everywhere now, and they saw this and knew I had to have it. There's a Rhett Butler cupcake, too, and it has bourbon in it. Guess who may meander to the cupcake store after her trip to the confounded pharmacy?
It has the radish Scarlett barfed up, right in the center. And yes, that's glitter. Yesterday I ate glitter. Which should be a part of everyone's balanced diet.
Another of the Alexes came over last night and brought me wine and body scrub, and she doesn't even LIKE dogs. Tallulah took a big shine to her, however. Must have been the whole aloof club thing.
Speaking of aloof, I see the Needy Committee has commenced its morning meeting, and that I have so much blush on it's like I've got Lasa Fever, so I should be off to work.
XO, June. Who needs to be rescued.
