Wednesday, May 4, 2011
I know. What?
The vet just informed me of this, via email. Gosh that Vet is on top of things, isn't she?! I love that Vet. Do you remember that one time you had an ear infection and so I took you to see that Vet and she proceeded to pull black, goopy, bloody infected hairs from your ears in order to save your life? And you winced in pain and I cried out "No! Not my precious Bubba! Take me, instead!" and then proceeded to faint in her office because of the whole ordeal?
That was pretty heroic of me, no?
And remember that one time you got attacked by an evil dog in my parent's front yard and I almost died of a broken heart? Do you remember how I fell to the ground in a heap of pathetic tears & cried out "don't die, Bubba Boy!!" And then I got home and proceeded to write the cheesiest post in the entire world.
Except you didn't die. You lived. Remember?
Anyways, "Happy Birthday Jack!" the email said. And for a split second I was like, who is Jack?!
I then I remembered, you're Jack. Jack Bauer Olsen, to be exact. Except you're not. You're Bubba. You're my poop-eating machine. You're needy as hell. You're jealous of Evie and yet, you secretly like Evie. You're fat. You're ridiculous. You're sweet. If I died you would guard my smelly body for the rest of your life.You're my gosh darn dog. And apparently you're 4!
Remember when you were my one and only true love? Remember when I rocked you and held you and pretended you were a baby? Remember when I thought I couldn't live without you?
Yah, me neither.
What I meant to say was Happy Birthday Bubba Boy!
Do you really think you'll live to be 15? I mean, I don't really think that's necessary, do you? 10 sounds like a long and full life to me, but whatever.
We love you!
When you're clean.