Hank, you make me sick.

This is Hank.

Hank is a good dog.

Most of the time.

The other day, I was leaving to go to the school where I'm doing some informal student teaching, and he was standing under the big tree in the front yard ... chewing on something.

I called him over, tied him up, and left for school quickly, not thinking about it.

When I got home, I untied Hank and, remembering that morning, decided I had better go investigate. There, under the tree, I found what you could only call "the remains" of a cute little bunny rabbit.

I looked at Hank, then at the rabbit, and then this preggers lady started puking.

I got sick under the tree.
I got sick halfway back to the house.
I got sick in front of the house.
I got sick in the house.

But the worst part was, every time I looked at Hank and thought about ... "the remains," I got sick again. All day long.

I once heard what I thought at the time was a hilarious story. A pregnant lady and her husband went and bought a new car. She got sick on the way home. Really bad. So bad, that every time she looked at the car, it reminded her of how sick she was, and she got sick again. It got to the point that her husband actually had to sell the car.

I was starting to get really worried that I would have to sell Hank.

He had no idea why he had to stay in the garage all day, and why, when Travis let him in, I ran to the bathroom.

He's been on house ban for two days now.

I think I will get over this. I really like my dog.

But if I don't, does anyone want a blue heeler that can catch his own doggie treats?