Thank God we have a brick floor in our house.
Our Chocolate Lab has sprung a leak. Her name is Mocha, because she's a chocolate lab and we're real original with the dog names … or maybe not so much.
Did you notice how she crosses her legs when she's just relaxing and hanging out? She's so ladylike. Mocha is the sweetest, most gentle dog you can imagine. She and PR are best friends. I've never seen a boy love a dog so much, and I've never seen a dog love a boy so much.
I kept seeing little drops of water on the brick floor yesterday. I would normally blame my kids for … I don't know, walking around dripping something, but they weren't home. Awhile later I found a puddle. Finding a puddle in your house is never a good sign, not even when it's on an easy to clean up brick floor.
Mocha is six years old and completely house trained. She never, ever, has accidents and hasn't since the week we brought her home. Literally, she's leaking. Liquid is just trailing out of her and besides the ewwww factor, there is also the WTF? factor.
It isn't pee (not even slightly yellow), it isn't crap … it looks just like water and there's no odor. I can't locate where the leak is coming from other than the back half of her body. I can't figure out what the leak is either.
Have any of you ever heard of a leaking dog?
Clearly I need to A) Keep her off the carpeted areas of the house and B) Get her to a vet as soon as possible. Don't ask me how I'm going to pull off a vet visit on the Friday before Memorial Day weekend when every minute of my day is booked, but it's got to happen.
Because? The dog is leaking!
I don't know what a trip to the vet costs where you live, but here in south OC we're lucky if we get out of the place for $400. So then, there's that too.
But? Leaking Dog!
On a positive note, and in totally unrelated news – thank God I have boobs!
I was running late the other day. I might have been driving just a tad bit fast down a major thoroughfare. I rounded a bend and said, "Oh shit!" as I slammed on my brakes. Mr. Officer was right there in the shadows with his handy radar gun.
I think he was waiting for me, ya know what I mean?
Well, it just so happened I was wearing a relatively new shirt that day. It's kind of a tealish blue and it's really pretty although, in hindsight, I don't think Mr. Officer cared at all what color it was. And, um, it's very low cut. I have big boobs. In fact, I'm thinking about getting them made smaller but I'm a chicken shit so I probably won't.
Tangent: Why would I get my tits made smaller? Because they are not helping my arm and shoulder situation in the least … as my doctor has told me in no uncertain terms repeatedly. Also? My entire life people have seen nothing but my boobs. People talk to my boobs all the time. They forget there's a me attached to them. It gets old.
In any case, Mr. Officer came over to my car (now pulled to the side of the road) to say hello. Very friendly of him, wouldn't you say?
The thing is Mr. Officer had polarized sunglasses on and when he stood next to my window looking in at me I could see perfectly well he was getting an eyeful of cleavage. I don't think Mr. Officer ever looked anywhere except at my cleavage as a matter of fact.
I told Mr. Officer I was so sorry, and I was just running a little late, and I may have – just possibly – crossed my arms under my breasts as I was talking. The (purely unintentional!) act of arm crossing just may have possibly created even more cleavage.
The next thing I knew I was being reminded to drive safely and sent on my way without a ticket.
Ladies? Never, ever, underestimate the power of cleavage!
P.S. How many people would put a leaking dog and the power of cleavage into the very same post?
© Twenty Four At Heart