(no subject)

[bonbons]

Last night (or, I suppose, this morning) was an interesting one. In the early evening, a handsome young boxer named "Archie" bit a good deal of his tongue off while waiting for his afternoon walk at the Pet Spa. According to the vet, he would have bled to death if taken even an hour later than he was. Later that night, my boss called me and asked if I might come in and spend the night with the poor pup to watch over him and keep him from choking on the frequent spews of bloody vomit ejecting from his droopy face (from the anesthesia). I stayed and we had a smelly sleep over. I lay next to him on a bed made of chairs listening to music, reading, and waiting for the next regurgitation. He seemed much better this morning, but cried when I left the room. We became pals overnight; between twelve and seven I held his head up four times, cleaned up four messes, ran my fingers across his stiff, blood-splattered coat, and told him that he would be feeling better soon, that he was a brave boy.

I'm exhausted. Why is it that sleep overs never involve sleep?