I don't know what the dog had eaten for Fat Tuesday, but by the morning it was on the living-room carpet. The dog stood hungover, nose to the door, pleading in a silent chant; "open the door... open the door... just open the damn door."
--yea the day got better. The dog got better... I may however use this morning's vomit in my great American novel someday.
1 comment:
I can see his sad little face, leaning his fevered doggie brow against the door... :( Mom
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