I wish pain upon my dog

We went away for a week, and left Norma with a pet sitter. She seemed to be on a path toward righteousness. Started to poop outside. Didn’t bark. Very friendly.

Now, three weeks into dog ownership, I want Norma dead.

Seriously, I am offering $100,000 in dimes and pennies to someone willing to drive Norma into the middle of the woods and drop a tree atop her head. It must be her head, because I’ve determined this is the only way to stop her from friggin’ yelping (as she’s doing right now, at 12:46 in the morning). Then you must place her in a river (preferably one with sharks) and send her off into the darkness. If, one week from now, I still don’t hear her annoying bark, you’ll be paid in full.
At this very moment, my dog is going through the holy trinity of canine assholness. She poops liquid, she poops liquid inside the house and she has worms in her stomach.

Where’s my guinea pig when I need her?

*** Writer’s note: Upon waking up this morning, I felt very guilty about this post. I don’t actually want Norma gone—just muzzled and sent away on a (pleasurable) month vacation to Mrs. LaRue’s Training Academy.

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