Smote 'Em If You Got 'Em

The good Lord must be in a real retributin' kind of mood, because last night, you know, after posting that ersatz Swiftian nonsense about my dog, the little bastard decided to eat part of the neighbor's Oleander hedge. Just to teach me a lesson. Despite living here for 8 1/2 (there's a Fellini movie I've never seen) years, and never once having shown interest in anything green other than grass, he bit off a few leaves before I got wise.

Oleander, it's just one of the deadliest plants known to man and beast. So I stuck my hand down his throat, extracted what I could, and dosed him with activated charcoal. He's fine. It's just part of his extensive Shaman training, I tell myself. Transmuting poisons. What's next after a rattlesnake bite, scorpion sting and lethal plant ingestion, I wonder? He slit his wrist once, breaking out my bedroom window, and slicing a vein to the extent that my bed was covered in blood, and I mean soaked into the pillows. The front hallway and door were so puddled and smeared, it looked like the Manson murders. We've had two near deaths, as well as the resurrection from 8+ months of paralysis. Maybe onto hallucinogens? When Duff's done with his Ayahuasca Ceremony, I'll let you know.

Despite his 11 1/2 years, my vet swears he's got the physique and constitution of a 5 year old. I read once that the record for a Labrador Retriever was 25 years. In Scotland. Though I hear their air quality's a little better, that's what I'm aiming for.

Still, we need to say good by to a Cajun ami from the swamps of Louisiana, dog of a lovely, crazy coonass who got put down this weekend. Dear chocolate bean, not only were you one of the coolest, most intrepid dogs I ever met, and a real sweet little bee, you also had one of the best dog names ever, Bosco. Look after Chad, I know he's all torn up about you going.



Fais do-do, chére bébé...