Monday, 26 August 2013


THE PIG-DOG RELAXES after a hard day of licking her butt and puking.
Pig-Face turned one year old today. For her birthday I suspect she'd really just like me to stop calling her Pig-Face, but that's not gonna happen. 
Instead, she got a platter of baked bones, a new collar and a thrilling afternoon at the dog park. She also got humped by some ridiculous little hairball that looked like it might have been a schnauzadoodle, which officially makes it better than any birthday I've ever had.

When we got home, she ate an entire pound of raw ground pork off the counter (in her case, that's practically cannibalism) and then threw up all over the living room floor. Here she is at the end of her special day, resting her churning guts smack-dab in the middle of the hallway, a passive-aggressive affectation she has recently developed.

She has an expensive dog mat that rivals my own Sealy Posturepedic for size and comfort, yet she prefers to park her bristly ass here so that I have to step over her any time I want to go anywhere in my own home. And I'm sure she will vomit at least once more during the night. 
If she makes it to her second birthday, no one will be more amazed than I.