If you saw my comment in the Fuck It Friday thread last night, you are already well aware of the fact that yesterday involved barf, dog fights, huge elephant shits, and a thousand-dollar vet bill.

For those who did not, here's a quick round up: WeePiglet barfed, Main Dog barfed, Auxiliary Cat barfed, all before 7AM. Main Dog and Emergency Backup Dog got into a huge bloody gross fight, necessitating the voyage of Emergency Backup Dog to the Emergency Vet for stitches, a bandage, and the Cone of Shame.

For Today:

I slept on the sofa with Emergency Backup Dog because she's my babydog and I wanted to keep an eye on her in case she was in pain or had any complications.

This morning, around 8AM, my idiot husband lets Main Dog out of our bedroom and she immediately goes after Emergency Backup Dog for what appears to be no goddamn reason at all. Just like yesterday! Main Dog is kind of a dick. What's-His-Name has many wonderful qualities but "thinking things through with a quickness" is not his strong suit. He's more of a methodical planner, not a reactionary. Normally, that's good because I'm a "kill first, don't bother asking questions" sort of person.

Unfortunately, what that means is that when the dogs got tangled up this morning, he put his hand in to try to pull them apart. Oh, honey. No.


They eventually wrestled their way to the crate and they were BOTH in there. So I dragged 130 pounds of fucked-up dog out to the back yard, opened the crate, and turned the hose on them.

My dogs are total assholes.


No new major damage was done to Emergency Backup Dog, but What's-His-Name was sporting a rather fantastic set of puncture wounds.

In my role as Battlefield Medic, I hustled him into my operating theatre (the bathroom) and cleaned up his hand as best I could. Then I bullied him into getting dressed and took him to urgent care because his wounds were a bit beyond my Home Surgery expertise. I don't usually mess with puncture wounds.


The urgent care stitched him up and bandaged him pretty good. Once we got home and the adrenaline wore off, he started whining like a giant diaper baby so I gave him a Vicodin. The poor man has no pain tolerance whatsoever.

At the moment, he is sacked out on the sofa, the dogs are in their respective crates (we have two now) and I am mad at everyone in my house for fucking with my weekend plans.


I have no idea what set my dogs off. They have never started fights with each other for any obvious reason and they have NEVER fought two days in a row. Usually there is a small dust-up every few months but then they retreat to safe locations for awhile and get over it. Not this time. This time, we ended up with HUGE EXPENSIVE INJURIES. Sigh. So we're going to have to have everyone in their own crate unless they are highly supervised while we figure out what the hell everyone's problem is.

It's 3:15. I should have started drinking around 8AM YESTERDAY but I have not had anything but water since then. It's probably time to start.


How's your weekend, GT?