Flunkie pawrents for sure Wyatt!!!  I've been waiting and waiting(and reading) for an update and still no update!  Gawd!!!  Kick them in the butt will ya?  Or better yet, bite 'em!!

Tracy, Maggie's Mom

I have not been on-line much lately; sorry we missed Wyatt's issues.  Glad that he is home and it is not the big "C".  Thank goodness for CSU and their staff and alumni!

Chuck & Rusty

jerry said:

Bernie, Wyatt can't WAIT to tell you all about his battle scars. Now, about that chicken wing, was it raw or cooked? If it was cooked then you are even nuttier than Wyatt! At least dem wings are soft bones, hope you've pooped it out by now.

Of course it was cooked! Why would the little monster steal something harmless? That's hardly his style. My friend and I were out in the back yard, drinking White Russians and eating a bucket of Albertson's chicken wings (because we're classy that way), when Bernie bin Laden noticed that Tom's attention was focused elsewhere and his hand that was holding the chicken wing (the drumette piece) was at a convenient angle. Like any terrorist, he never misses an opportunity for a sneak attack, so he charged Tom from behind, did a flying leap, and yanked the wing out of his hand in midair. I saw it out of the corner of my eye, realized what had just happened, and yelled to Tom to grab Bernie because it could kill him if he ate the wing and the bone splintered in his stomach (Tom's not a dog owner, and initially didn't realize the danger).

We both lunged at the hairy little wingjacker, who of course thought this was some awesome new game where two people chased him at once. He started charging around the yard, pausing occasionally to make sure we could almost – but not quite – catch up to him. He got the orange tree in between us, but realized he was trapped on either side, so he took a few big loud chomps on the piece, and swallowed it bone and all. Then he ran off again, looking pleased with himself while I had heart failure.

I called our vet (who we have on speed dial thanks to the little bastard), and asked what to do. He said there was no need to bring Bernie in, since attempting to make him barf the bone back up could be just as dangerous because of the potential for throat splinters. Instead, he advised the SAME DAMN THING BERNIE GOT WHEN HE ATE MY #%*@ CAMERA – feed him an entire can of dog food every three hours, and play with him nonstop in order to get the digestive juices flowing and hopefully get him to pass the bone naturally! So Bernie got to tear around the backyard all afternoon, taking only occasional breaks to inhale more food or bite Linda, and then spend the evening on his back in our living room grunting, groaning, and farting all over my wife and I. Then he got rewarded even more by going to doggie day care to play with all his friends the next day since Di and I were both working, where he still got a full can of food every three hours until the 24-hour observation period was over and he was out of danger. Diane and I are convinced that he'll be the dog of ours who lives the longest and takes the most years off our lives in the process.

Nauseating little ingrate. I hope a bone splinter poked him in the bunghole on its way out.