Today, I was a terrible, horrible, awful dog mommy. I loaded the kids into a crate, popped them into the back of my Element, and hauled them all to the evil Vet’s office. There, a stranger poked them, prodded them, and finally jabbed them with a needle.
Poor puppies! Almost everyone bore it with typical French Bulldog stoicism, except for Pixie. Pixie, as we’ve discussed previously, has mastered the art of being the Saddest Dog in the Universe, and put it to good use today. She cowered on the table, shivered in terror, and yelped in pain when she got her vaccination. Pixie then turned her soulful moo cow eyes on me, with a look that obviously said “Why are you allowing these horrible things to happen to me? First, the bare floor. Now – this. The reign of terror never stops”.
I, of course, immediately felt like the evil monster that I so obviously am. Poor Pix has been using her sad dog Emo powers on me ever since she got home, and has parlayed it into being carried around tucked underneath my arm, like a fashionable clutch purse. She then watched the Sex and the City Movie with me (and she agreed that Carrie should have told Big to get bent once and for all. Pixie is a pragmatist).
I then fed all of the puppies tiny dishes of frozen yogurt (courtesy of Pixie’s new daddy), and contemplated the fact that I am personally responsible for unleashing a small army of spoiled rotten puppies onto an unsuspecting world.
C’est la vie.