Whoa! Didja get the numbers off that truck?!?

August 17, 2002 - 12:19 a.m.

One false move, and the dog gets it

That happened today.

After mopping up dog pee yesterday (again), after letting her out several times today, I come home from work to see two elongated pee puddles in my kitchen, and a ripening pile of crap in the sun porch.

I'm done.

I'm convinced this is her doggie way of saying "Pull the trigger, Jesus." Just yesterday I was thinking that maybe if we could control her desire to decorate my house, we could get along. Actually I think that as I mop up all this pee, the scent of it is getting dispersed throughout all the hard surface floors in my house. I can't smell it but she can. So anywhere is fair game.

I put this off because it's hard for me to actually load her into the car with the intent of taking her to the vet and ending her life. She spends most of her time less than three feet away from me at all times. She bumps and stumbles to wherever I am, she follows my sounds. She looks in my direction with those eerie green eyes, clouded by cataracts, wagging her tail. She seeks me out in the morning: forepaws on the mattress, grunting and nudging my hand as I lay in bed. Where is breakfast?

Well she always loved to go for rides in the car. I'll have to plan one soon.

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