The old man has been ill lately, as old dogs are wont to do. Blind, nearly deaf, and now with some horrible stomach illness no doubt resulting from gobbling up something foul that he sniffed up in the yard, he does little more than lie in bed groaning or rushing to the back door (or refrigerator or washer and dryer depending on which direction he gets himself going) and begging to go outside lest he embarrass himself horribly on the kitchen floor. The first night of his misery, our exchange student suggested I put him outside because he was gross. It was 32F with snow on the horizon. Needless to say I pointed out I'd had him ten years, and her seven months, and if anyone was going to be sleeping in the yard it would not be my sick and blind and arthritic buddy.
The house is blissfully silent at the moment, thanks to her being on a senior class trip and him being over his projectile defecation. This is good news in more ways than one, although I fear I have discovered the source of Old Man's misery.
We had an early Easter egg hunt for some kids and I succumbed to the cheery yellow sugar coated marshmallow bunnies more than once. Now I'm the one groaning in the corner and begging to go out.
Damn you sugary marshmallowy bastards!
Damn you sugary marshmallowy bastards!
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