Oy with the poodles already

My husband and I have become those people who, when asked if we have any children / when we are going to have any, we say, "Oh no, we have a dog."

Not that we treat her like a / our baby. When she was a puppy, she had her fair share of babying. Now, however, she is three, therefore an adult. Since at most times it is clear to pretty much everyone she is smarter than the average bear, we treat her like an adult. A friend. A colleague. One of those friends from work that you go for lunch with every day and hang out with every afternoon and go on family camping trips with every weekend.

This week, however, she was sick, and although no one wants to hear about a stranger's sick dog, I want to write about it. One of those things about a sick animal vs a sick person is they can't tell you what is wrong. They can only show you something is wrong.

Thus, a week of my dog lying on the couch like a sad little slipper. A week of carrying bowls of water to her and making her rice, which led to egg whites, which led to chicken breast, which led to my husband wondering if she was MUCH smarter than the average bear.

She is perking up, finally. I can. Dog or not, if you love someone, you are going to worry about them when they are sick. I suppose the worry is a feeling I will be able to tap into with my writing, but this is one of the few times where I am not thinking, "I am glad I had that learning experience."

Pretty much all I have talked about this week is my poor little friend.

Here is one of my absolute favorite phrases, from one of my absolute favorite TV shows. I think it is appropriate for me this week:

Oy with the poodles already.