As I previously wrote, I've run my bar down to the dregs like tequila and schnapps. This effectively means I'm a teetotaler, 'cause I'm sure not drinking tequila and schnapps. I was fine with this. Was.
Sunday afternoon, I noticed my dog Fredo coming down the stairs gingerly. He slumped in his bed, no longer shadowing me. By Sunday night, he was whimpering in pain, unable to stand. Left to our own devices, neither one of us would sleep a wink Sunday night. His wailing was unearthly. I gave him a pain pill. He drifted off, still crying.
Knowing I wasn't getting any sleep until the vet opened her doors, I stared at the Kahlua. "How much of that crap would it take for me to not hear Fredo anymore?" I wondered. "How many dog pain pills?"