I think my dogs have outsmarted me again. For the past week they've been refusing to poop in their regular spot and I've had to walk them all the way past Erykah Badu's house before they finally decide to do their business. I don't think the dogs are celebrity hounds, but if they were they couldn't help but notice that Erykah has been all over the local news lately for parading around buck naked in Dealey Plaza while filming a new music video. Personally, I don't think the naked video shoot is a big deal. There are a lot weirder things to talk about. For instance, what about the humongous bomb shelter buried under Erykah's front yard? It's big enough to serve as a NORAD command center. I watched the contractors install the thing while she was building her house. It arrived early one morning on an oversize 18-wheeler and took several large cranes and excavators to install. If the apocalypse comes early, Erykah would be a good person to know. I think she's going to survive.
I still miss Martini Night. It's been over a month since I've had anything to drink. Even though I'd love to go mix myself a stiff drink right now, I don't think I'll have any problems maintaining my sobriety. It's sad in a way. I've become so used to dutifully doing things I don't enjoy that giving up alcohol becomes just one more thing to add to the list. Maybe I'll thank myself later when I discover that I don't need a liver transplant after all.
It looks like Henry is finally going to get a home. This dog has already survived heartworms, pneumonia and major spinal surgery. I can't think of a dog that deserves a second chance more than this guy. Tomorrow, I'm going to transport him from the veterinary hospital where he has been treated for the past four months to the K-9 University kennels where he will begin his transition to a normal life. As cynical as I've become, I still love a story with a happy ending.
Dalmatian of the Day
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