Bad Day and Grave Diggers

I am outraged and spitting mad. Last night I didn't feel well and my mom even had to carry me out to my fire hydrant and back again. I was listless, didn't want to eat and my arthritic bones were giving me trouble. As if this stuff and my bad heart weren't giving me enough grief, my MOTHEEEEER told my dad that she wanted to start digging my grave! Can you imagine that? She says she's too old to dig it all at one time and she needs to do it a little bit every day so it will be ready when I go to the Rainbow Bridge. A warning to you younger pups out there: I'm pretty sure that when our humans start talking about the Rainbow Bridge they're REALLY talking about putting us down i.e. sticking us with a needle that will put us in a permanent sleep. Next I suppose she'll want me and Dad to sit out on the deck and watch her dig.

I've got my sixteenth birthday coming up June first and I'm going to make it, by gosh. I'm stubborn and I know I can do it. So today I started eating again and walking better. That didn't stop the 'grave' talk, though. Mom is going to dig it and fill it with a couple of potted plants. Like that's going to keep me from seeing it every time I pass by on the way to my pee pen. AND she made an appointment with the vet for tomorrow morning. I don't think it's for the big needle, no I really don't. But she told dad that she'd always wonder if there was something more going on than just my bad heart if she didn't take me.

I'm going to read up on that 'Rainbow Bridge' place where all dogs are suppose to go when we---shutter the thought!---die. Just in case it's true. I'll meet my adopted brother and sister up there, Mom says, who lived with my family before I came along and I might even be able to blog from the bridge until my replacement learns to type. I know Mom will get another four-legged child like me. I smelled schnauzer puppy breath on her last week.

I'm so depressed and Dad has a basset hound face every time he looks at me. I even saw a tear on Mom's cheek. The next time I blog, I'll try to get back to recording my childhood antics. I still have to write about my lipstick fetish and about the time a lion chased me. ©

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