Winston, the little gay dog , got whacked yesterday.
It hurts.
His load is not as heavy, he's lighter on his feet, his eyes are bigger than they were, he's walking a little slower though his ass is a bit higher than it was this morning.
His tail is between his legs.
He looks scared.
Goddess seems concerned but keeps going outside and returning smelling like medical marijuana. She loves her little gay brother and hurts for him.
We all do.
He has brought so much happiness to our blended family by blending us even more. He loves the girls and he adores Sarah. He sleeps under her side of the bed every night. She dresses him every day in his cute little dogie sweaters with cute little sayings like ... "I can't even think straight" ... and he loves to sit in her lap.
Through, the gay little son-of-a-bitch (and I mean that literally) runs from me and for the life me I don't know why. I give him treats along with Goddess. I take Goddess for walks and then come home to take him for his prance. He licks me when I get out of the shower in the morning.
Anyway, the Health Department and other manners of Government are happy now because Winston has been nurtured.
Like a rolling stone, they are gone.
The great balls of fire have been extinguished.
His AC DC has experienced a ball breaker.
The ball and chain have been severed.
Rubber ball is not coming bouncing back to you (bouncy, bouncy, bouncy).
But it had to be done. He's been traumatized by the Tybee Island Police Department for weeks. They've accused him of every crime on the island, blamed him for bring his hoodlum Coyote friends and now say that two Great White Sharks hang around the beach waiting on him.
So I'm pleaded with you to say a little prayer for Winston, the little gay dog, today. The poor guy is hurting and I feel really bad for him.
Click like so he can see that you care.
I'm going to pet him now so I have to stop typing with one hand as I'm protecting myself with the other.
Poor little guy.
