Of pissed off pocket Pomeranian. Luna is in heat again. I don't know how this snuck up on us. It seems like she was just in heat a minute ago and we need to schedule that appointment soon.
I have to admit, sometimes people think I'm weird about my dogs. I love them both so much. This is going to sound really bad, and please don't take it in the wrong context, but having dogs is like having retarded children who never grow up and are always happy.
Luna is the ultimate lap dog. She's cute, and affectionate, and loves nothing more than to sit with her Mumma. She gives kisses and has kitten breath. I let her drink out of my iced tea and my wine. She sleeps curled up next to me every night, sometimes in my hair.
Being in heat makes her head twist around. She's snappy and crabby. She had a go at me last night when I moved her. This might be alarming but she weighs four pounds. Not too scary. I scolded her and tapped my finger on her tiny kitten sized head. She weighs four pounds and three of that is hair and she's going to do what? Snip at one of my fingers and chip the nail polish?
I do feel badly for the Pocket Pom with PMS; she's obviously not her normal happy self. There is, however, something perversely funny about four pounds of pure canine PMS angst.