Yeah, I know. This is a blog mainly because it's too long to be a tweet, which tend to be all over the place in content and tone. I have a dog - my very first dog ever. She's an old dog. 14 and a half, to be exact. And with age, comes certain...issues for dogs, as they do with people and houses. Sometimes it's deafness, sometimes it's creaky old bones, frames or roofs. My dog (and her companion, who we had to put to rest a year or so ago) choose to exhibit oldness by *ahem* losing control of her "pipes," as is were - they burst and leak all over my house. It's hard, because we struggle between wanting to spoil the living daylights out of her just for putting up with us so long, and wanting to strangle her as we drag out the Little Green Machine and Simple Solution for the umpteenth time this week. And right now, she's curled up in her bed, asleep, completely oblivious to the fact that just looking at her makes me cry, knowing that she's getting to the end of her life. Getting old sucks.
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