In reference to queries about what the dog may or may not have done in the backyard, we've come up with a shorthand designation: "Number Three." This, of course, encodes success for both "Number One" and "Number Two," which are themselves informational
Ella has had the cone on for nearly six days now. Tomorrow she (we hope) gets it off. We can't wait, and neither can she. The saddest thing is when she tries to scratch her head or neck. It's just the scrape of claws on plastic.
Pictures o' the dog, sans cone and avec.
I used to think that dogs with their heads wrapped in plastic cones were the most comically ridiculous sight imaginable. That was until last night, when I came home from work to see Ella in her cone in the wake of her spaying. There is only one sight more pathetic
Separated at birth?
This morning we walked Ella to her new vet (recommended by close friends with pets in Astoria) and stayed with her through a quick exam. Then we, er, left her. She's being spayed as we speak. █████ was quite distressed as we left the vet and worries that Ella
And here's the lucky dog! Oh, wait, that's a picture of Ella.
It's not like I have insomnia or anything, but I'm pretty sleepy and am just trying to keep my eyes open until my flight boards in an hour or so. I'm sitting in the departure lounge at Sea-Tac, empty Starbucks cafe latte (grande) cup
In happier news, █████ has met a happy, house-trained, six-month-old soft-coated wheaten terrier puppy in the suburbs of Chicago and will in all likelihood be bringing her home to Queens at the end of the week. Her current humans are sad to give her up because she's such a
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