The past week has been a real treat. On Monday, I was tortured me in a small bathroom with a huge tub of water. I’m pretty sure what happened to me is prohibited by the Geneva Convention. For once, my human took no pictures. She claims it was because she didn’t want to drop her new iPhone, but I know better. She didn’t want any incriminating evidence. (Kristin: It’s a bath, not waterboarding. Calm down.)
After she was done, she said I smelled like a baby. That thrilled her to no end. I, on the other hand, was less than pleased that, once again, my street cred took a hit. Who makes a German Shepherd smell like baby powder? How embarrassing. (Kristin: Embarrassing or not, it was a huge improvement over the odor you had.)
Two days after that experience, I learned what torture really was. My human took me to this building filled with animals with no preparation, no explanation — she just left me there. Boy, did it smell. It was delightful. And the noise! All that barking! Music to my ears! Next thing I know, I wake up from a nap and I have a big plastic funnel on my head. What the hell is this nonsense? (Kristin: I wish you’d cut it out with the hyperbole. Getting fixed is not torture, it’s the best thing for you. Before you know it, it will be a distant memory.)
When I got home, I was so disoriented, I didn’t even move when Chuck sauntered over to me and sat down, like we buried the proverbial hatchet. We have not, trust me. In fact, I will not forget how she took advantage of my post-op wooziness. Oh, it’s on.
Apparently I was broken, because my human keeps telling everyone that I “got fixed.” Whatever getting fixed means, it wasn’t too bad. I barely had any pain, but my human kept freaking out every time I ran around or tried to jump up on the couch. But it’s the cone that’s the worst part of the whole deal. (Kristin: I freak out when you jump up on the couch because you’re not allowed on the furniture. Ever.)
As though the bath and the surgery weren’t bad enough, the next day was a rain day. Which meant it was time to pull out the doggy raincoat. I looked ridiculous! What German Shepherd wears a raincoat? Especially one with rubber ducks on it! Someone talk to this woman and set her straight. I look like the village idiot. I can only imagine what people thought when they saw me walking down the street. (Kristin: Sorry, Charlie. I simply will not abide the smell of wet dog. Yuck.)
Hopefully next week is better. It has to be.