George Goes to the Vet

Guest Blogger - George
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It's morning, the sun is shining, I'm happy as that dog licking his balls that my owner is always talking about. Oh wait . . . I don't have balls. BALLS!

Oh oh. She's attaching the leash in the car. This could mean a few things. She could be taking me to Wagner's Drive-In, she could be taking me to the dog park, she could be taking me to the groomers, or she could be taking me to the vet! BALLS!

Maybe if I stare at Pup's car long enough he'll come rescue me. Nothing bad EVER happens to me when Pup's around. Oh wait . . . Pup drove his little car! BALLS!

May as well settle down and get comfy. She drives like a maniac and I should keep my head down in case of flying expletives. BALLS!

Oh - this is good. She knows just how to rub my neck. Okay, I kinda like her. Even when she brings me here. BALLS!

Oh dear! Who the heck is that?? Arrrg! This can't be good! They're probably going to tell me how adorable I am and weigh me and stick this thing in my neck and call it a "shot" and take blood. Oh the inhumanity! Wait . . . I'm a dog. I keep forgetting.

Oh the incaninity of it! BALLS!

Really? We're done? Keep your damn low-fat treat. I'm going home. I'm going to roll in the grass and drink water. I'm going to listen to everything she ever says to me from now on. I'll never go out of an open gate again. I'll never jump on delivery guys and scare the living crap out of them. I promise! BALLS!



My screen debut. And her first, ahem, attempt to video my cuteness. And it's about BALLS!