While Samson does engaging things that aren't watching Handy Manny or Little Einsteins at the nanny share tomorrow, I will be taking a trip to the veterinarian's office with Ozzy and Nanna. As you may have read, Ozzy met with the business end of a skunk Friday night--well, both business ends. And although I cleaned the wound out and have kept a close eye on it, it's starting to look...gross. And wound-like. So I will let the doctor decide if it's more serious than I thought, and if it is, I will pay the doctor to fix it, then I will die from shame and guilt.
On a potentially more sinister note, Nanna is going to see the vet because she's skinny. How's that for catty behavior? My best friend is losing weight so I will pay someone to fatten her up. I've recently noticed that I can see each vertebrae in her back, and her haunches are much more defined than normal. Max says I'm crazy, and I hope he's right. The last thing I want for Nanna is some sort of awful disease that manifests itself in any way other than squirrel chasing and peanut butter licking and snoring quietly on the bed. That would be the disease of the gods.
So here's hoping that tomorrow morning I come home with two totally normal dogs, even if one of them is Ozzy.