Sparkle curled up in the Lazyboy with me last night for a solid two hours, the election debate burning a hole in my brain, and her looming surgery (today, soon, perhaps as I write this, in fact) lingering like a brick in my mind, and completely without care in her’s. I think, last night, her biggest wonder was why I would not let her have any rawhide to chew, an addiction (if anyone wonders how to buy the love of my dog) that seems to only be increasing. She paced the room after a while, scoping out her den and the “toybox” for any little scrap of consumable chewy things, but (of course) to no avail. I only tortured her, eating a savoury taco just a few feet away.

We dropped her at the vet shortly after seven thirty this morning. I don’t think she was too concerned, trotting off down the hallway with the vet assistant, barely even looking back, off to investigate this new interesting place. I’m wonder how she feels about it now. A check-up, a spay, and (Karin opted for) a brand new microchip of her very own. She’ll be a new dog ina few hours. Everyone wish her the best.

Late afternoon update: Our Mr. Sparkle is now neither Mrs. Mr. Sparkle, nor Mr. Mr. Sparkle. The surgery, apparently, according to a quick call from the vet to Karin around noon “went well with no complications and that Sparkle [was] just currently waking up from the anesthetic.” Now, just one lonely night to wait for our puppy to come home.