So in addition to our nine-nippled wonder, Cleo, (to whom I’ve been known to chant “Four on one side, five on the other, she would have made one hell of a mother”), we are now in possession of Frank the weiner puppy mix. He’s a happy little guy, but seemingly happiest when the man of the house is home. Or maybe happy isn’t the correct term. Excited, if you catch my drift. Now this is supposedly submissive behavior but it’s a little disturbing none the less. After a long day of work Darren comes home and gives each dog a pat. Next thing I know he’s inevitably yelling “we have full hot dog!”
When it came time to give Cleo a Benadryl the other night to alleviate her itchy and increasingly hairless butt (she’s a hot mess), Frank propelled his tiny legs up off the ground and snatched it out of her mouth. Now the effect of Bendardyl on a puppy is quite something to behold. I could only imagine he went on quite the trip before he finally curled up on our bed and passed out. Darren reached over to give him a scratch as Frank groggily wagged his tail in his usual excitement. Only for once he wasn’t excited. Darren’s comment: “He’s so drugged up he can’t even get hard for me.” So not only am I not June, we’re definitely not the Cleavers either.