Little Dog has been having a rough go lately with seizures. How ironic is that? I’m epileptic and now, she is. I guess she was genetically predisposed to the disease, inheriting it from me – my little four legged kid-o.
Here, The Imp is at the vets recovering with a bowl of dog food! DOG FOOD! Who would have guessed? We spend hours each week grilling chicken patties, boiling chicken breasts, boiling quinoa, slicing sandwich meat into tiny bits in an effort to bait the little girl into a few bites. What she wanted was some canned dog food. HA!
Only 8 more days until she turns 19, and in human years that is 92. She is the grand dame, and will be the grand old lady the first of June. Go Dinky! Go Dinky!
To borrow a line from AZ, “Little Dogs Rule!”