“Who does depression hurt?…ME!”
Leave it to my husband, Mr. Compassion himself, to get the dog that has the saddest looking face.
“Andrew, I think something’s wrong with Winston.”
“Huh? Why do you say that?”
“Well…today he kept giving me the sad eyes like we hadn’t fed him in a week.”
“Oh no. Don’t worry. That’s just his face.”
Look at him! Look!
He looks like Kate Moss when she was caught for shooting up!
He looks like someone liposuctioned his cheeks.
He looks like the doggy Grim Reaper extending his icy paws toward his victims.
His nose is even wet, his eyes blood shot like he’s been crying.
The only time he seems at all happy is when he is being bad like eating entire contents of the bathroom trash can or prancing around smashing into every wall and piece of furniture we own.
Then again…whenever he is Mr. Sadness I tend to pay more attention to him. I tend to bend over and kiss him on my way to get the mail. I tend to give him a treat and whisper something sweet to him. I’m more likely to scratch that little spot on his ear that only someone with opposable thumbs can really manage.
Wait a minute! He’s been using that pitiful face to manipulate me!
He’s been USING my compassionate spirit to get what he wants!
(open mouthed stare…)
In other parts of my world: I’m wearing a sweater. I can smell fall coming. I think I’m beginning to like this season.