A little treat.

I have a very high opinion of my dog, and he has the same opinion about himself.

Never go on webmd after 1 am.

Nothing good will come of it.

I'm not the type of person to be left alone with their thoughts. It really never works out well for me. I had the worst stomach pain I've ever had in my life (or what I have not successfully blocked out of my memory) tonight. There was no way that I wasn't going to hurt and feel nauseous. It just wasn't going to happen, so after a couple of hours of chanting "make it stop! make it stop! make it stop!" I made the foolish decision of looking at my symptoms on webmd. Now, I'm just waiting to fall over dead.

If you haven't been able to surmise from my curmudgeonly antics, I'm not the type of person to go to the doctor unless they are in fact dying.

My pain has ceased, so hopefully this won't be the last you hear from me. The only thing I have to deal with now is the fact that I probably won't be sleeping tonight, because it is now almost 7 in the morning. I did get a chance to research all the dog rescue options in my area for the next time I decide to adopt a dog. That's the only plus that's come out of this.

Moral of this story: Webmd scares me at night and never leave me alone with my thoughts, please. They make me do crazy things.

I don't think you fully appreciate how crazy my dog is

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ak9goeCTqPM

It's xmas time in the city, so I'm going to talk about my dog.

My face itches. There is a point to that statement. I need some better face moisturizers, because the one I have doesn't do a sufficient enough job, yet it makes me break out. It is the best of no worlds on my face right now, and it doesn't make me happy.

While I'm home for the Christmas break (probably the first time I spelled that out in years), I let my dog sleep in my bed. I love the dog. I do. He just has a tendency to wake me up at a decent hour and the college kid in me does not like that at all. It is really difficult to sleep when a ten pound dog starts walking around your head and sticking his nose in your face. I've been trying to teach him the concept of personal space, but alas he is a dog. Someone might want to tell my mom that, because she treats the dog like her third (favorite) child. You don't heat up dog food or hand feed the dog, especially if after spending four years with you he will be coming to my house. He will be considered lucky if he gets wet dog food at my house.

I tend to like to talk about my dog. I apologize. It sort of happens that way. I know animals aren't humans. They cannot compare to children, but he is the closest thing I have to a child, so sometimes I think of him along the same lines.  

I love xmas by the way. I love it more than most people. In fact, xmas would need a restraining order against me if it were a person, but  I like my dog more.

Let me tell you how pathetic my life is, ok? One of my favorite people in the whole world is a dog. He isn't even an intelligent dog. He is goofy and goofy looking. He can jump at least fifteen times his own height, and he is the most spoiled creature in this whole planet.

If you aren't caught up on my life thus far, my older dog (whom I had since I was six) was put to sleep a couple weeks ago. We had gotten her a companion to harass in her old age, that would be the lovely Frank Zappa. He was initially supposed to encourage my older dog to hobble around and get some exercise.

He is a handful. He is two and half years old and not 100% potty trained ( I don't know how my parents put up with him either). He has a Napoleon complex and a through belief that if you are eating something half of it is rightfully his. I love that dog.

As I lie awake in my apartment at night and think of home, I can hear his collar jingle as if he's jumping off of something. He is the first occupant of the house to meet you at the door when you come in. He will con you into letting him sleep in your bed. I never learn my lesson. I can never sleep with him there, because he is honestly ten pounds and I'm afraid I'm going to squash him. He insists on being under the covers too, and your bed ends up smelling like dog.

He has the tendency of jumping on the dining room table and eating a whole stick of butter. He also has the goofiest little face. He walks on his hind legs and knows how to jump on command. He is truly amazing, and simultaneously infuriating.

He makes me wish they allowed pets in my apartment. Even though he would probably hate the snow, considering he won't even go outside when the ground is wet.

Isn't he just oddly adorable?

Dear Jazz,

Thank you. You were my best friend when I didn't know how to talk to humans. You gave me something to love that wouldn't dare break my heart, until now. You stayed at home with me on Saturday nights when I had no where else to go. You loved me even when I was a child that was just a little too cruel.

It hardly seems fair that you are a memory before your death. Knowing that that event is coming soon is making me nostalgic. I love you, you know? I always have and always will even if it doesn't seem like it right now.

That's my fault. I can't help it. Looking into your eyes breaks my heart. Watching you struggle to do everything breaks my heart. Shatters the blood pumping organ.

You used to be able to climb fences. Do you remember that? Or when you would jump over them entirely? You were a hand full. I think you were too smart. You had to be smarter than some people.

I've called you an evil genius on multiple occasions. You always got to do just about everything you wanted with little to no regard of what we said.

I remember the snow. You were the funniest thing to watch on snowy days. We would go sledding (which you deemed too dangerous). You would grab us by the gloves and put a stop to that nonsense. Sometimes you would get skin. I bled once, but it was still more fun than painful.

You are a bit of a racist. Sexist too. I don't know how you kept that up with your failing vision or how you got the notion in the first place. To be fair you never liked anyone without our last name.

I'm sorry about my childish cruelty. I was young and didn't know how to be a good pet owner.

I remember when Dad could hold you in one hand yet you would monopolize both my arms. I remember calling you the world's biggest lap dog. Or how you would lick me right in the face despite my protests.

I hope I don't remember Friday for what it will mean to you. It is KT's birthday, and you like KT. I don't think you'd want me to remember it for that as well.

I'm going to miss you baby-dog, because you meant the world to me. <3