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I'm a loser living with parents once again because I'm going back to school for writing and I've decided to buy a condo and thus want to save between $20-25 grand for a down payment. Anyway! Enough about my loser lifestyle and saving money obsession.
Recently my parents decided to rip apart our huge like... three story porch in order to just have an open backyard and do more fancy stuff. Before this they put in a small pond. So we've got this like massive skeleton porch with steps that lead nowhere and random planks and basically it looks like a weird ass surburban warzone.
Because of this I insisted everyone leash my pug, Vlad, before he goes out back because I was certain he'd go running and hurt himself. I think god hates me because of course it's with me that Vlad goes running through a small ass crack in the door before I can leash him and decides to run up one of the staircases to nowhere and fall eight feet onto concrete.
I immediately freak out and take him the Emergency Vet Clinic and have him looked at. He's fine, praise Jeebus, but I swear just the mere thought of losing another pet this month killed me. They gave me some doggie Vicodin just in case he appears to be in any pain and I have him being monitored by my mom while I'm at work. Everything is fine thus far and I'm thinking he's just one really fucking lucky dog.
Oh, the vet visit was particularly humorous as I brought him in there for possible hip injury and by the time the vet showed up he was jumping up on her and running all over the room we were in. What else? They mispelled his name as well.
He's apparently Blad Manders. Blad to the Bone or something. That's my puppy. Heh.
Recently my parents decided to rip apart our huge like... three story porch in order to just have an open backyard and do more fancy stuff. Before this they put in a small pond. So we've got this like massive skeleton porch with steps that lead nowhere and random planks and basically it looks like a weird ass surburban warzone.
Because of this I insisted everyone leash my pug, Vlad, before he goes out back because I was certain he'd go running and hurt himself. I think god hates me because of course it's with me that Vlad goes running through a small ass crack in the door before I can leash him and decides to run up one of the staircases to nowhere and fall eight feet onto concrete.
I immediately freak out and take him the Emergency Vet Clinic and have him looked at. He's fine, praise Jeebus, but I swear just the mere thought of losing another pet this month killed me. They gave me some doggie Vicodin just in case he appears to be in any pain and I have him being monitored by my mom while I'm at work. Everything is fine thus far and I'm thinking he's just one really fucking lucky dog.
Oh, the vet visit was particularly humorous as I brought him in there for possible hip injury and by the time the vet showed up he was jumping up on her and running all over the room we were in. What else? They mispelled his name as well.
He's apparently Blad Manders. Blad to the Bone or something. That's my puppy. Heh.
