Most days sweet Daisy is my muse. She sleeps under my desk and whenever I peek down and we have eye contact, her tails starts slapping the floor. We play the peeking game a lot and she always catches me. She is happy just to be gazed upon by someone who loves her.
Lately, though she is sweet in nature, she is decidedly NOT in odor. Daisy has a delicate problem that, shall we say, makes her tough to share close quarters with. She's a gassy girl. It must have something to do with the sulfa-based medication she is on, because the odor of rotten eggs permeates the house once or twice a day and even she seems irritated and mortified by it.
The only fun part about it is when Schmoopie comes skipping in from swinging in the back yard, stops dead in her tracks, wrinkles her nose and shrieks" "Ewwwwwwwww, Daddy!"
The Guy in the Boxers of course denies responsibility for the malodorous state of our home, but she looks at him in disgust anyway. And I see no point in defending him. His track record speaks for itself.
Chin up, only two more days until the meds are done, sweet Daisy girl.
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