Sympathy For The Devil

This afternoon I was rudely woken up to constant screeching of Spike’s call to be let out to potty. About an hour later I couldn’t take it anymore so I went downstairs to let the little bugger out. I walked up to the mail box to which I would normally drive, as the 200 feet to walk is too much for a smoker. As I was entering the house to let myself and Spike in I must have over stepped and when I went to pull open the glass door I pulled too hard and smashed my pinky toe*.

As I collapsed to the floor in agony, the damn dog missed his chance to enter into the house. I crawled my way back to the door and began pouring blood everywhere. I looked at my toe and discovered the nail had been ripped clean off and the toe itself had been split right down the middle. Writhing in agony, I had to make my way to Jack. Although Jack couldn’t sew my nail back on to my now bruised and battered pinky toe, I knew that only Jack could help me and my pain go away. So I slithered my way and I reached into the liquor cabinet and pulled out trusty Jack. After about fifteen minutes of consolation, Spike appeared to have caught wind of Jack and so wanted to join in on the consolation. In my drunken state and pool of blood I calculated how old Spike would be in human years and decided that he is old enough to drink. So I poured out his water bowl and allowed Spike to partake of the spirits.

And I must say, for a six year old he can hold his liquor.

* Picture too graphic to post. Visit my T-Mobile Picture Album to view the image.