Down and Out.

Our poor pooch, Zack, is depressed. He's got an odd way of expressing it, too. In the past week, he's chewed shoes, chewed cell phones, and knocked chairs off the couch that we put there so he won't sleep on the couch (because he has a very cozy $60 bed to get his hair all over). These are things he hasn't done since he was a puppy (like three years ago).

I can be a pretty dense human and couldn't figure out what was going on. Until I realized that, DUH, our roommate of two years just moved out. That qualifies as traumatic when you just don't get it.

I've tried 'splaining it to him, but my words just seem to go in one ear and out the other. I really fucking wish I spoke Dog and could let him know that the roomie's gone, but maybe in a year or so we'll have a bambino who'll just love Zack to death!

Actually, maybe he doesn't want to hear that because a bambino will surely steal some of the attention of his adoring humans. Sigh. Poor dog.

The cats are fine. Not that I'm surprised by that. Cats don't give a fawk. Zube Boy is convinced that they think we're talking furniture and as long as they can curl up and lay on us, whatever.

I just wish I could make him feel better. It would be good for him, my shoes, and me.