Gentle Readers,
I would like to make it exceptionally clear from the outset that any rumors of my crying in my Daddy's automobile car on the way home today from the chemotological therapy for this so-called "Canned Sir" are thoroughly free of the truth. Anyone who would say such a thing is clearly not sufficiently familiar with the quantity and ferocity of my bravery. For the posterity, I will state that if anything, I was merely singing along with an especially inspiring song on the radio machine, and perhaps maybe also got something in one or both of my keen and soulful eyeballs.
It was certainly not because of the ouchiness of having some of the insides of my sturdy, magnificent bones removed via some very pointy needles, or the pumping of a variety of queasy-making chemicals through my mighty veins by means of the aforementioned pointy needle systems, or the removal of more acreage of my magnificent pelt so as to better accommodate the pointy needles, or the not-allowed-near-ness of my Daddy while all of this occurred.
No – I am far too brave and stoic, and protective of my Daddy's feelings to allow any of that to reflect upon my stately countenance. It surely must have been the Avril Lavigne. And perhaps a sandstorm.
Yours, ever bravely and handsomely,
Mordred T. Dog
I'm pulling for you, Brave Mordred. Though I know we will never meet and that your heart belongs to the beautiful Miss India, I will continue to have warm feelings in my insides whenever I think of you. Please fight the yuckiness inside you, and continue to write the updates on the interweb so that my Mommy and I can know how you are doing.
Posted by: Secret Admirer in WV at January 26, 2007 02:14 PM