I thought that when you went to the doctor
, they gave you a sucker
if you were good.
Yesterday I found out that if you're good when you go to a dermatologist
, he gives you a dog!
Not really. I went and had my surgery on my back which hurt like hell
and still does, and then my doctor (who talks like Cheech and Chong
) gave me the all over body examination, checking my shit out thorough. He said the only thing he wants to take off that isn't on my torso
proper is a mole on my left ass
cheek that he'll get to eventually. That's gonna suck.
But he also told me to shut up my "damn whining
about how you gonna die mahn, cuz you ain't."So anyways, I go out in the hallway and my mother, the cancer
survivorer (who insists on coming with me to the doctor, and to be honest, I'm glad) is holding what I thought was a fat monkey
. Turned out, it was a yorkshire terrier
Wiley is a year and a half old and belonged to a girl who loved him very much but was gone 19 hours a day. Wiley was sad all the time and as such, his owner (who works at the derm office) was taking him to a no-kill adoption
shelter. My mother intervened, saying "I'll take the dog, and then I'll bring him when Josh comes back for his 23,408,234,098 other surgeries."
When Wiley saw me, he jumped into my arms. For the rest of the day, anytime I left the room he would cry. When my fiance
Diana came home from work, they fell in love with each other. Hence, I'm now the proud owner of a Wiley.
Bava the cat, however, is not so happy about this situation. But they will learn to love each other.