Luke called yesterday. His dog, Snoopy, finally passed away. That is such sad news. Snoopy was nearly fifteen years old, quite an achievement for a large dog. Lexi grew up with him and felt really bad. It doesn't matter that we all knew he had cancer and couldn't live much longer. He was a good dog.
To make matters worse, Lexi's little gray cat had crawled up in the engine of Luke's truck so when he started it up to take Snoopy in to have him cremated, the cat got caught in the fan belt. Luke eventually freed the poor little thing but it took off. So he doesn't know if it will be okay or went someplace to die. He said it was covered with blood and smelled really bad. What a rotten day for Luke.
Closer to home and more pitiful than sad, my little Cleo has developed a terror for the dishwasher. When it's running, she hides in the office and cries for me to come to her, then shivers with fright until she eventually goes to sleep on my lap. If I take her to the kitchen and offer her a treat she ignores it and tries to get away. In fact lately, if the clothes dryer is running she won't eat from her food dish. That was a puppy thing she had gotten over until a few weeks ago when a jar dropped out of the cupboard next to her bowl.