Doggy Death Camp

So on Sunday night I suddenly remember that I forgot my purse in the car. There was nothing in it except some make-up but I got to thinking about the pledge I made not to leave my purse visibly displayed in a locked car lest another jackass bust the glass.

The more I think about it the stronger that annoying feeling of my gut conscience gets to do what I don't feel like doing but know I should do.

At midnight, out of my bed I go, trudging with a towel to the car, take the purse out, all is swell, fix said towel discreetly, head back through the door and hear "gchaaak....gcahuuck...." coming from the garden.

I'm not scared but my stomach sinks. I know that sound well and I growl to the universe before I confirm with my eyes "You really called me out of my bed for this????!!!"

There's our puppy hacking out his inners, shaking, barely standing, eyes aglaze, slugging his way to the crypt that is the dark moldy gutter.
Damn f-ing dogs eating frogs this afternoon poisoning their own asses and then invoking the Spirit to remove me from my warm bed to become a dog Saviour yet again. (I'm a professional dog Saviour by the by. I've done this shit only a few dozen times since moving to this doggy death camp we call home.)

I get a pet bottle of sugar water, hold open the dog's jaws and pour it down until she looks dead. I guess the rationale is- if I kill her by drowning she can't die from poisoning. I'm feeling compassionate tonight, so I drop an old rag on her and dump her in the laundry room.

In the morning, Ricky spots the corpse, digs a grave and picks up the dog on the shovel but of course our dog is a dog of faith and just before she hits the earth, she is resurrected, jumps off the shovel and goes back to the rag to lie down.

Here is the land of short returns, I spare myself the enthusiasm.

(though none have ever gone by chicken bone Bonnie....) I've seen:
Poisonings, Parvas, Mean Monkeys, Mean Cows, Worms, Ticks, Cancers, Dognappings, Assassinations, Suicides, Run Overs, Run Aways, Run Wilds- I've been through more dogs than underwear in these last 11 years.


and one thing you can always be sure of

the dog reaper is never satisfied.