Jon Katz and Izzy can make even the sassiest pup feel like dog shit.
It’s not enough that Slate writer Katz runs this fairytale Narnia farm where animals of every sort frolic about, singing primal songs of brotherhood and carrot-taste, but now he’s got Izzy comforting the dying and wringing tears from my big brown eyes.
I mean, I was going to spend the day eating/vomiting rotting clumps of grass cuttings in the T-Bell, but I guess now I’ll reassess the decisions I’ve made?
Sigh. I didn’t even know “being a hospice puppy” was a thing. Do I spend too much time thinking about being a famous dancer? I’m hungry. When’s Ms. P coming home? Is that an ant over there by the fridge? This carpet is sooooo soft. Maybe a nice nap! Ooh, yes, nap.
(When I’m asleep I can’t feel.)
