Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Mom Looks Worried


Dear Diary,

1:00 AM -  I'm sick as a dog.  Literally.  Barfed on one, two three throw rugs.

1:15 AM -  Mom looks worried.  She says she wishes she wouldn't have given me the new flea treatment that morning.  She thinks I'm having an allergic reaction.  

1:30 AM -  I'm in the bathtub.  Mom's sudsing me up with Oatmeal Shampoo, trying to wash away all the poison.  I sit looking straight ahead.  

2:00 AM -  It's the blow dryer.  I hate that thing.  It makes such noise, and it scares me when it blows all that warm air on me.

2:30 AM -  I'm still not dry.  Wish that stupid blow dryer would break.

2:45 AM -  Almost dry.  I'm shivering.  Mom wraps me in her warm soft robe and I fall asleep in Dad's chair.




8:00 AM - I'm too tired to get up.  Mom thinks there's something terribly wrong.

8:01 AM - Dad tests me, 'There's Max outside!" I jump from the chair and run to the window.  

I must be all better.

Gracie.



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