The title says it all. On Saturday morning, Joan got up and let me out and gave me food but I could tell she wasn't gonna take me for a walk so I didn't eat any food. Instead, she let me up on the bed and we snoozed a bit longer. When we got up, I went downstairs, drank some water and them immediately vomited on the floor in two spots. Uh, oh. Joan shooed me outside. After I saw she was putting her shoes on, I ate some food. Then we went to the dog park. There were not that many friends there because it was a bit cold. At the far end of the park, Joan was throwing sticks for me to fetch on the iced up Mississippi River. All the humans were laughing at us as we skidded around on the ice. Joan chatted with some other humans and I chewed and swallowed a few sticks despite Joan telling me not to.
On Sunday morning, Joan woke up and came downstairs to let me out and at the back door, she saw a pile of vomited-up sticks. "Well that's not surprising," she said. She did not hear me do it like she usually does when I start to vomit because she had that loud air thing going in her room. (I slept on the comfy couch downstairs.)
Shall I also tell you that I'm getting the sense that Joan does not LIVE FOR ME. I mean, every night this weekend - even last night - she went out! Okay, so she was here with me all day or at least most of the day but that is just not enough. I'm getting needier and needier - I need my cuddle time on the couch with Joan.
Tonight I was on the couch while Joan was working on her computer in the office. I heard a LOUD POP and I ran like a cheetah and bulldozed into the office door. Joan looked outside and I guess the neighbor clears his sidewalk of snow with a 4-wheeler and it did something called a "backfire" and that is what I heard. It reminds me of that awful day, July 4th. In any case, I relocated to my bed in the office. It's a good thing I have so many beds (not even counting the couch, the leather chair, Joan's bed, the rug...) A dog's got to be versatile.