I am my dog's familiar. I used to think she was my familiar, but that's because I'm a bit thick at times, being human and all. Are you familiar with what a familiar is? Are you sure?
She's the witch and I'm the familiar. She gets waited on hand and paw, I sure don't. She's happy and I'm freaking out. She sleeps soundly--I need Prozac. She's under the protection of the Goddess Hecate, and ol' Heckababe sure works overtime for my dog. When Pony (my dog) needed a 24-hour a day companion, I lost my job. When things got too dangerous for us in England, suddenly we could move to America. Pony likes it better in America than England, her native home!
She's got the magick touch--I've got the pooper scooper (acutally, a plastic bag with my hand inside it). I worship my dog. She's "awwww"some. Glory Be, Pony!
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