When I was seventeen I lost a dog who was very near and dear to my heart. It took me awhile--four years, actually--to decide I wanted another dog. At the time my grandmother bred Cocker Spaniels. I always wanted a tri-color (black, white, brown) little boy dog, so that's what I asked her for Christmas.
When my grandmother came to visit she brought along the most adorable puppy. He was skittish and yippy for two minutes, but he quickly realized I was him new mom and we were inseparable. He was, and continues to be, a freakishly smart, yet highly neurotic dog. Actually, he has no idea he is a dog. I think he is an OCD gay man in a doggie body... but like a fun OCD case.
He was always super protective of me. He didn't like anyone to sit on my bed. He would growl and bark if anyone--even my mom--was in my room for too long. Jeff was the only one who never bothered Paddy too much. Awww, doggy Cupid.
This month, Paddy will turn 9, which is like 55 in human years. It makes me nervous that he is getting old. I will be a disaster when he goes.
Today, Paddy is going in to have a tumor taken off his side. It's just one of those fatty tumors that dogs get. They run heavy in his family--his mom is a lumpy hawt mess at 18 years old (seriously). But there is that whole anesthesia thing and the surgical unknown...
So, fingers crossed for my crazy ass dog. Thanks!
1 comment:
That is one cute dog. I'm thinkin' you can quit teaching, become his agent, and find the little guy some modeling gigs. :-)
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