Dear Dallas,

When our person came home yesterday and found all those piles of doggie throw-up, I was sure she was going to think it was me.    I tried very hard to shift my eyes in your direction, but it turns out I didn’t need to because once she saw you, she knew.  You were laying on the floor shivering, and it was clear you were one sick dog.    You even let Tarra and I sniff you all over, and that’s when I knew you were really sick.

Our person took you to the V-E-T ( she spells it because she thinks we can’t understand. We just let her believe that and roll our eyes behind her back). You got shots and pills and came home to rest.

I’m sorry you are sick, and I’m sorry I call you an A*hole (Even though, you know, you are most of the time when you are feeling well). I’m sorry I made fun of your haircut, and I’m sorry I punched you in the side with my nose when you were wrestling with Tarra last week.

Maybe being sick will give you something  our person calls”embassy” wait, that’s not right……no…um….oh..”EMPATHY”.  That means you’ll understand what it feels like to feel bad and understand how I feel sometimes. Maybe you’ll stop being that word I call you.

Dallas, I hope you feel better, and I’m sorry I called you a name.   Unless you don’t have any em……em………unless you don’t understand how I feel and in that case, piss off.

Love,

Jock, a very embassetic……dammit…….empathetic! old dog

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