It's too quiet here tonight. . .

She's a big pain the backside most of the time. . . she has taken a flying leap right into me as I tried to drink my morning coffee. . . she has sometimes made Molly's life a train wreck. . . then there was the time, in the cold of night, she refused to come inside, abandoning her training to run from one side of the backyard to the other as I totally lost patience with her, trudging through the snow trying to get this maniac in the house.  That was the night I grabbed her by her neck, dragged her into the house and threw her into her cage, and screamed, "BAD DOG."  She looked at me as if she was thinking, "Did I do something wrong?"

Sometimes I've questioned my sanity for bringing this bundle of mega energy home.  Not tonight.

Morgan will be spayed tomorrow.  I knew it would be total chaos tomorrow morning when she discovered she wasn't allowed to eat before going in for surgery.  She would be bouncing off the walls and ceiling and I would be trying to maintain my sanity to drive her to the vet and then get to work in one piece.  So I chose to board her overnight.

She knew something was out of the ordinary as we sat in the waiting room at the vet.  Then the lady came with the purple lead to wrap around her neck.  "This is the first time she has been boarded," I explained.  "It is traumatic for me and for her."  Morgan continued to bounce around and tug at the leash I had in my hand.  Finally the lady was able to hit the moving target and lead her away.

I turned the other way and went to my car.  I can deal with this, really I can. . .

This vet likes to keep all surgery cases overnight as a precaution.  So I won't get her back until Saturday.

I came home.  Molly, in her old age, she's 11 now, is quiet and gentle.  She looked around.  "It's okay, girl, Morgan will be home soon."  She crawled into my lap, enjoying the luxury of not having to fight off a young whippersnapper for my attention.