“Our dog ain’t wearing no damn thundershirt!” I proclaimed.
Candy, our 100lb+ half Dane/half Lab is afraid of fireworks. Keith brought her a Thundershirt.
He’s like, “It’ll keep her calm.”
“Look, John Wayne’s dog didn’t need no Thundershirt.”, I said jokingly.
We go back and forth. Candy (our dog) is jumping up and down between us.
Finally I say, “look if –“
“When” Keith snaps.
“Ok WHEN she gets upset I’ll calm her down the way an American is supposed to calm down.”
He’s like, “you are not giving her pills!”
I was half joking though this discussion. I’m such a downer queen. Nothing I like better, than slunked on lorazepam crying my eyes out. I get some of my best writing (prose and code) done that way.
But with Candy jumping up and down and Keith so determined.
“Ok fine. But you’re walking her.”
Thundershirt... my ass. Damn fucking embarrassing.