WHY I'M A TOTAL PUTZOLA AND WHY MY DOG SHOULD HATE MY FREAKIN' GUTS

I am hanging my head in shame today and feeling like the absolute worst person on the whole entire planet.

My little dog is injured and it's all my fault.

After telling the world that he was a little "ripe", I harnessed him up for the short ride over to the v-e-t for his pedicure and waited for Aunt Chrissy to pick us up. He was fine, but absolutely miffed that I had to tart him all up in that red contraption.

(When we take the boys in the car with us, we put them in their little harnesses and then clip them into their car seats for safety. We prefer to clip them via harnesses so that there is no danger of hurting their little tiny necks by clipping them into their seats via their collars.)

But I regress.

When Miss Nekka came out for the first victim, I happily handed Stewey over to her and took a seat in the waiting area. I knew that he wasn't too happy about it, since I caught sight of him pulling and tugging away from her as if she were going to do something awful to him.

And, rather than say "Oh, dear, Miss Nekka. Why don't I pick the little fellow up and carry him along to the exam room and then hold him tenderly while you clip his tiny little toenials?", I shook my head and muttered something about the damn dog being a big fat sissypants and that he had better just suck it up and be done with it or I was going to leave him there permanently.

When it was all over, Nekka said that he did very well and that she didn't have to muzzle him or anything, but she did say he kind of went into a tizzy fit at the end and became very snappy.

I, of course, didn't think anything of this, since my dog is usually snappy when it comes to anybody other than Aunt Chrissy or me getting all up in his grill.

But there I go....regressing again.

Long story short (I know, I know....too late for that)....I think that Stewey really hurt his little self during his freak out. When we got home he went directly to his fort and then spent the entire evening crying himself to sleep in his little bed. When I went to cuddle him, he winced and screeched and got big fat tears in his eyes and I wanted to go drag a butter knife across my throat for being such a putz.

Aunt Chrissy thinks that he might have bruised his little underside when he tugged on the harness, and I'm sure that whatever it is will be better after some rest and a few baby aspirins, but I still could just die from the shame of my neglect.

Can I just say that I am the most awful, sucky, dreadful, nasty, incompetent, lousy, stinkin Mommie on the planet? All I do is bitch and moan and complain about this little dog peeing on my drapes, and all I should be doing is telling him every single minute of every single day how much I love him.

I'll keep you posted on his progress. For now, I'm going to go soak my head and make him something special for dinner.

I wonder if I'll be able to fit under the bed to deliver it to his little fort?