Just Call Me Doctor Frogg

The cowgirl called me this morning. "Can you do me a favor?" she asked.

"uuhgruh," I said. (I was still in bed.)

"I forgot to give my dog his medicine," she said, ignoring my groans that were meant to signal my desire to stay in bed. "Can you give it to him?"

"I don't know how to give medicine to a dog!" I said, with a remarkable return to coherence.

"It's easy," she said, "You just blah blah blah..." Of course, she didn't say "blah blah blah" but that's mostly what I heard, because I was still in bed, and even though my verbal skills had kicked in, my listening skills were still way behind.

So I said ok when she was done talking, hung up, and went downstairs, where I gave shrieking Leo my routine threats of death and dismemberment if he wouldn't shut up (which he didn't), before picking up the medicine bottles and heading outside. The dog came bounding up to me full of trust and hope that I had come outside to play fetch with him. He was not too pleased when it became clear that a game of fetch, or anything else for that matter, was not on the cards. Instead, he got his jaws forced open, a hand shoved into his mouth, and a big red pill dropped down his throat. This wasn't nearly as much fun for him, I gathered. He made this abundantly clear by clamping his mouth tightly shut and refusing to take the second pill. We had a bit of a struggle over that one, but I eventually won the day. Afterwards I gave him a dog biscuit, and he was happy again.

That's what I like about dogs. They just never stop loving you, even when you do things to them that they really don't like.

I'm going to miss Indy when the cowgirl moves out and takes him away to her new digs. Of course, I'll miss the cowgirl too.