Gracie: (My leg is broken and it hurts.)
Me: “Your leg is not broken. You have arthritis in it. Remember a coupla years ago, when you were forbidden to run the fence with Sam next door, and you went and ran the fence with Sam anyway and tore your ACL? At 4:30 in the morning? You don’t remember that?”
Gracie: (You broke my leg.)
Me (heating up): “I didn’t break your leg. I was THERE when you tore your ACL. I was also there when it was time to write the vet a check for $1500 to get your ACL fixed.”
Gracie: (You said “vet.” I don’t like going to the vet.)
Me: “Don’t change the subject. You are an expensive hobby. We spend literally thousands of dollars each year to keep you walking around. This month alone I’ve spent three hundred dollars on your allergies and prescriptions. You are SO not worth it.”
Gracie: (Hunh?)
Me: “Seriously, pray that no one does a cost-benefit analysis on you. You’re not affectionate, bright or well-behaved. You’re a homely, graying mongrel. You don’t do tricks, you don’t get my paper in the morning, you get up on all the furniture and ruin it, and there’s PILES of black hair everywhere you hang out. We burn up a vacuum cleaner every 9 months. Speaking of which, why is it that you shed in the WINTER?”
Gracie (in singsong): (And why is it that you’re so mean all the time?)
Me: “Take that tone out of your voice. Talking with you is a waste of time to begin with.
Gracie: (No duh.)
Me: “Perfect–sarcasm, with a tone and an obsolete term of derision, and from a dog. No wonder Amos, the best dog ever, didn’t like you.”
Gracie (after a pause): (My leg hurts.)
