It's going to be okay. I want all of you to know that Eliot, my beloved Yorkie of twelve years (his birthday is Aug. 2nd, should you like to send a card) is sleeping contentedly in his blue stroller, as pictured. All of you have strollers for your dogs, no?
I don't know what happened. I came home from "Unity In the Communities" in which the tri-city area in which I live, comes together to support our area non-profits and also award the winner of "Non-Profit Organization of the Year", which deservedly went to CCA, or better known as Christian Community Action. A shout out to you guys! GREAT JOB. Check 'em out @ http://ccahelps.org/
We do this ritual always, when we come home. Like the Baha Men would tell you- "Who Let the Dogs Out!?", and it's a mad dash to get Emerson, our Boxer, duly pottied and Eliot, who has fumed the whole time about being locked up in the bathroom- "Emerson. Check and see what time it is now. I think Mom and Dad should be back any minute."
"I can't tell time."
"You stupid idiot. If you can't tell me what time it is, when I get out of here, I'm going to pee in your dish like I did when we first got you."
Oh, how Eliot loathed Emerson. I've never seen anything like the out and out vindictiveness with which he was treated. He'd pee, every day, in Emerson's dish. OR, his other favorite was to poop. Whichever. Just to consistently communicate his message: You-Know-I-Hate-You-Right?
One particular movie featuring Kathy Bates, had me examining more closely my own psychosis regarding Eliot. You see, I always know what Eliot is thinking and can, at any given point, articulate it to you in fluent EliotSpeak. Kathy Bates had squirrels, all these squirrels in cages, and she could do the same thing! We're not crazy, we're just "in touch". Ms. Doolittles, that's all.
Eliot's "thing" to do when Tony leaves is to hop excitedly off the couch, spin around four or five times, and bark with this extreme sense of urgency, "Get up!Get up now! Do something for me! We don't have much time! I need some cheese! Hurry! The black man might come back! Get up! Get up!" That's exactly what he says. I know these things.
Eliot didn't want to take his favorite treat in all the world, which is a slice of cheese. I knew something was wrong when he refused his cheese.
He hurt his neck somehow. Emerson might have finally have had enough and secretly pummeled him- I don't know.
He's had his shot of pain meds and the doctor sent me home with more oral meds for the following days. You can understandably see why I'm not concerned about anything more than Eliot- at the moment.
Eliot: Shhhh. Don't tell the black man.
Me: I won't. Want some cheese yet?
Eliot: No, but maybe tomorrow.