There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


Literally wearing rags.

This morning some guy stuck his finger up my butt, and I didn't even have to pay. My insurance company is paying! Sweet. The benefits here are peerless.

I had to spend an hour in a freezing cold room wearing a pink paper napkin while waiting for him, but it was all worth it. Those 3 and a half minutes I got of undivided Health Care Provider's attention made up for the long wait, the smirk from the 12 year- old who weighed me and took my blood pressure, and the frostbite. Doctors are so much better than the rest of us.

This morning my dogs graduated. They are no longer simply Bad Dogs -- now they are evil. Before I showered, I laid out my ensemble for the day, making sure to keep the number of pieces minimal so as to make strippin' for the doc easier. Then I headed into the shower to scrub up, seeing as strangers were going to be poking around up there with evidence-gathering materials and a big flashlight. I heard the dogs making out and wrestling on the bed -- S O P. Then when I disembarked from the shower, I found that those flea bags had been PLAYING TUG O' WAR WITH MY DRESS. It was in shreds. Granted, it was a cheap Old Navy dress, but still... I rescued one dog from death row and found the other one at a gas station! And this is how they repay me? Apparently they think it's time for some shopping and a wardrobe update. I guess they're right.

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birth & death