Good Boy!

This morning, I took my dog to the vet. In the wake of the trauma of castration, boy-boy hates the vet. Somehow, he didn't quite figure out where we were until it was too late and he was up on the table.

Poor guy. Lotsa shots.

But, other than a benign (the vet believes) cyst on his asshole, he is the picture of health.

Going to the vet always involves lots of holding and comforting. The assistant at one point asked if we would need 'some muscle' (what am I? chopped livah?) and I declined. We don't need muscle. We just need love. And boy-boy will be fine.

This weekend, while I'm away at the GMSMA Board Retreat, boy-boy and my boots will be in the care and custody of cubby j. sherwood, who lives around the corner from me. cubby is way excited. And so am I. Perhaps I'll have a talk with the Dawn Manor folks about their No Dogs Allowed policy. The place would be great for him.

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