A Conversation With the Dog
"Mom, I don't feel well." She gazes at me from the floor with unimaginable pain in her eyes."Well, sweetie, since you insist that you're starving to death, while hauling around a 10 lb bag of fat on your ass and eating everything you can get your lips on off the street....well, I just don't know what to say."
Her eyes droop to half-mast and she gasps as though she is on her last breath. "My tummy hurts."
"Punkin, it's either stop eating garbage or stop acting like you're suffocating when I put the muzzle on. All that wheezing and flopping around on the ground looks a bit bad to the neighbors." Her eyelids droop even lower and begin to look suspiciously like victory.
"Maybe an aspirin would help?"
I get a spoon full of jam with the aspirin hidden artfully inside and lean down to give it to her. She turns her head away, overcome.
"Take it, it's all I've got." She takes it gently and lays back down, staring woefully at the opposite wall.
"That's what you get when you snuffle up a bad poptart on the side of the road, babycakes." She sighs heavily.
I think she's ignoring me.
It's a bit hard to tell though, since she's deaf.
Oct 21/2003