Mrs. Wigglebottom is not the Brightest Bulb

There’s this big stick about two blocks from home, enormously long but thin.  Every day Mrs. Wigglebottom looks at it and I say, “no.” because it’s clear she’s going to hurt me or her with it.  There’s no other purpose for a stick twice as long as she is.

But today, I was like, fine, idiot, pick up the stick, which she did, and promptly managed to get the stick caught in her leash so that it was smacking her on the butt as she circled away from it, thus somehow wrapping her leash around her tail sending her into more of a spinning yelping panic.

I spoke soothingly to her and worked to untangle her as our neighbor, in his car, waited for us to get out of the road so that he could get to work.

And, of course, two things happened the second I freed her: 1.  I got a fucking splinter under my fingernail from the stick I told her was going to end up hurting us both and 2. she thought we were now playing with the stick that had so cruelly beat her and humiliated her not two seconds before and wanted to yank it out of my hand and run off with it, as if her trying to run off with the stick isn’t what caused this in the first place.

I love that girl, but damn she cracks me up.

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