I really, really hate to complain, in fact I make a very conscious effort to look for ways to be grateful as much as possible, but I. Hate. Garbage. Day.
I took Lizzard on her walk this morning (at 5:30am thank you very much) and of course being that it is Tuesday our morning stroll was nothing like the relaxing exercise meant to start our morning. Oh no, we got the joy of actually watching the yard debris hauler lift the brown bins with the evil arm of the truck and bang the grass clippings into the back of the beast. Sheer terror fills every little fluffy bone in her body and as far as she is concerned her little terrorist life is over.
We continue our walk of hell for the next 30 minutes and I contemplate why it is that I wanted a dog to being with and then why Caspian decided we *had* to have a terrorist instead of a dog known for being at least somewhat sane like a Lab or heck even a cocker spaniel has more sanity then Lizzard. As I get lost in my thoughts one of the debris haulers buddies drives by letting out a loud hiss of the air breaks which sends Lizzard into a pulling frenzy snapping me out of my thoughts of golden retriever goodness and back to the realization that the pavement and I may soon become friends if I don't high-tail it back home before the refuse hauler comes.
Of course I have called the rescue group about her issues and they were "unaware" she had issues...unaware my arse.... I also called the Vet for advice and well they suggested one thing. Sedatives--like the kind they give dogs on Independence day--that and Doggie Prozac. Well ya know it does work for people!
I am still waiting for Cesar to come rescue us from the trauma of Tuesdays, but until then we will endure the fluffy fury of our furry friend, Lizzard the Terrorist.
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