Some people pamper and spoil their pets. We would all like to be those people if we could afford it. Instead, we do the right thing, we take good care of them, love them, and treat them as part of the family. Okay, and sometimes we dress them up. But not too much.
Nearly everyone we know has a dog, or several. (Yes some have cats too, but being a bad witch and a cat-hater, I have nothing to say about them.) Today I found out that one of our closest dog friends, Yoda the Pug, has a ruptured disc. (His pal, Baron the Boxer, who “lacks all sense of personal space” may have, inadvertently in his ongoing enthusiasm for everything from company on the drive way to birds over head, stepped on him.) He is on medication and cannot walk on the hard floors around the Anderson Family Home, so now we wanders, in his drunken-like gait, from rug island to rug island around the house. Earlier this summer, he was accidently run over by Dad Anderson. It was a horrid and panic-ridden moment. But, thankfully, he was alright. Not too badly banged up. I remember when Daughter Anderson was saving her pesos to go and pick up the Baby Yoda. He is now nearing a decade in people years (someone else needs to do the math for true age on that one) and just had his teeth cleaned. Mother Anderson thinks maybe all that build-up on his canines and bicuspids was actually what was holding him together all this time. (We have had cars like that.) Because, as she said today, he really is not aging as gracefully as some who have gone before him.
We hope he hangs in there, snorts and snuffles himself back to good health and grungy teeth. So that we can all enjoy him, or in my case, avoid him, for many more years to come.
