Poor Pony puppy (alright, she's nearly two and a half years old, but she has a puppy brain)! She's come down with a disease called pancreatitis. She had to stay in the Emergency Vet for a weekend. She's home now and, though still shakey, getting more and more like her old self every day.
Now, Pony is a British Mongrel. Throughout my life, I've gone on and on about how mongrels have Digestive Tracts of Steel compared to purebreds. Mom and I would call them "Princess Dogs" because they need need to be cooked for.
Well, my karma has run over my dogma. Mom keeps calling Pony "Princess Dog".
And now that my bank account has been wiped out (and worth every penny!) I REALLY need a job!!! Now, I've a theory that it was Pony's doggy mojo that made me unemployed all this time. She doesn't like me leaving the house without her, you see. So we've had to have a long talk. She's not very responsive.
I'm still trying to find a way to blame Peter Gabriel for all of this.
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