oozing pus on the hand that feeds him

Adoring and Wonderful Husband and I will be traveling to the holy land this August, the land of green and white and perpetually dejected season ticket holders, the land of all you can drink pop and all you can eat chips because “the kids are coming town so we better go to Costco and stock up on as much Helluva Good Dip as we can buy!”, and the land of contemplation and decision, as in: should we move back, or shouldn’t we?

For various reasons, including that AIR CANADA IS IN NEED OF A SERIOUS ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT ALONG WITH SOME REAL COMPETITION FROM WEST JET, the Gordonator won’t be coming with us this time. Though he flies well (unlike my parents’ dog Max who chewed through his crate and escaped onto the tarmac at Pearson during the move to Nova Scotia), and I know our nieces are going to disown Adoring and Wonderful Husband and I for not bringing him, it just makes more sense to have the Woof stay at Ottawa’s local puppy spa and retreat. Don’t roll your eyes - it’s only twenty bucks a day. And that’s twenty less bucks a day than we will have to spend on a puppy plane ticket, which would only serve to line Robert “MoFo” Milton’s pockets even more than they need to be.

To stay at the puppy retreat, Gorgeous needed updated shots, including the one that makes him chase his tail in circles until he falls down immediately after we tell a guest how smart he is. This year, the vet also recommended heartworm medication, because apparently Ottawa is now in the hot zone for the bugs that carry the worms that like to eat the hearts. I say apparently because Adoring and Wonderful Husband will have none of it. He thinks Gordie’s veterinarian is just a pusher part of a vast conspiracy designed to gouge the average dog-owning Joe of his hard earned money. A scam proportional to the pyramid eye on the US dollar bill that clearly shows that George Bush is part of the Free Masons and that Donald Rumsfeld likes to eat little Iraqi babies for breakfast. Yes folks, Ottawa vets are that shady.

So Woof didn’t get the medication, because I couldn’t bear listening to Adoring and Wonderful Husband complain about it for 11 days straight, which he is usually wont to do when he thinks he’s being ripped off. But – lo and behold! – what did the Bud do but go ahead and get an eye infection, topped off with matted hair so bad it required a trip to the groomer, so that Adoring and Wonderful Husband and I had to spend around the same amount of money we would have had to spend if only we had just refused to tempt fate and gotten the dang heart worm medication in the first place. Even though he chases his tail at the most inopportune times, Gordo is smarter than we think. He knows what karma means. It means: “Put down that damn baby already and quit neglecting me you cheap bastards.”