If you have poo, fling it now.

I paid a professional to murder my heart on four legs. I understand they do not call it murder at the vet clinic. I understand that it isn't murder. I did what was best. The humane thing to do. I get it but for the life of me I couldn't figure out what to wear to a killing. I mean should I wear a poncho whilst chewing tobacco à la Clint Eastwood in one of those western movies? Or maybe a black veil and giant crucifix since the funeral and viewing of the body happens straight after? If only I spoke Italian, I would wail my sorrow loudly to make sure the Italian deity could hear me and let me have a place in the Italian heaven, because pasta. Now dear readers you are wondering if I have finally gone off the deep end. Is she that callous to make light of such a sad and horrible time? Did she not love that poor soul? The answer is whatever you want it to be get your own blog. Wait that was rude...You see Humphrey was (I just typed the word 'was' and may have vomited