The dogs have cabin fever. Cue Jack Nicholson

 It's not yet December and already the dogs have cabin fever.
And I am starting to resemble Jack Nicholson in the Shining.
This little nugget -- look how cute she is hiding under the sofa -- has just destroyed Scott's boots. She's also shedding, as you can see, and has hidden an entire roll of toilet paper under the sofa.
Yesterday, I was working on a deadline, trying to get an article written, and I heard a weird slurping noise. Upon investigation, I found Sophie eating the Bag Balm. Don't know what Bag Balm is? It's that vaseliney stuff that farmers use for cow teets when they become chapped. I use it for Gordie's nose. Sophie uses it to get high. After she ate the Bag Balm, she tore around the house like Rob Ford on a Friday night. Man's she's stressing me out.
Finnigan is being an absolute asshole, barking incessantly, menacing me as I try to shovel snow from the stoop. Scott got mad at me when I threatened to take the shovel and put it right up his stupid ass.
Finnigan's ass, not Scott's.
Please, don't call the Humane Society. I'll just kill myself with it instead.
Meanwhile, Gordie has completely lost the strength in his legs and is literally shitting where he eats. And he's got diarrhea.
Quelle nightmare!
Also, Gordie has developed separation anxiety which means that he cries until I sit with him. Which means I'm not getting anything done.
On Monday, I'm going to the doctor to get my Botox, a chemical peel and filler.
I don't care how painful it is, it can't be any worse than listening to Gordie's high pitched whine all day.
I'm so unnerved, I've forgotten how to justify my columns which is why the blog looks like this.
Thanks for listening and have a Gordie and Sophie day!


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