(no subject)

So, I had to drop off Mr. Dog for elective surgury this morning. Mostly because I'm tired of dealing with his butt issues.

This meant he couldn't have breakfast this morning. I got the Brown Eyes of Starvation - you'd have thought I hadn't fed him in a month. I took a shower, and there he was, sleeping right outside the bathroom door (very unusual). I carried on as if nothing was amiss, and he started to snap out of it, accepting that this was his fate today. Mom was an idiot and simply forgot breakfast.
We went for a short walk up to the cemetary and back. But then, rather than turning left and going home, we turned right and went to the vet's.
Now, he doesn't mind the vet's. There's people to coo over him and other dog's butts to sniff, so he trotted right in. I met Dr. Roger (I swear I live on Sesame Street, with Dick and Jane and Dr. Roger,) and handed him the leash.

The look that dog gave me can be summed up in one word.

"Judas."

I don't know if there's enough squishy food in the world to erase that accepting, crestfallen and accusatory look from my mind.

My only hope is that with his attention span, and the good drugs, he will have no recollection on how he got to be in a kennel with a very sore ass.

- K.