from the the

out loud and comment on it as I go. I am your host your friend.

Your literary, Mansplainer in chief chief Michael Ian Black, morning time here in the wilds of Connecticut,

my shitty little rat dog, Jack, Curled Up in his morning position here on the reading throne.

Indifferent, as always to the recording of this podcast but I like to think that my

Malifulus mellifulus mellifuous

Malif-malifuous voice, lulls him into a kind of peaceful stupor which is probably identical to the peaceful stupor in which he generally finds himself. He is a stupid dog. I am not even convinced he knows his own name.

Lately, Jack Jack has developed a kind of cough when he gets excited.

Right, Jack?

A kind of, a kind of, a kind of,

like, and he can, he can, he can move around,

you know, skitter and scatter. But if he if he if he experiences any sort of

oh, I don't know. Adrenal rush, He gave, and we took him to the vet and the vet said, well as

Trachea seems fine and he seems fine. It might be bacterial, it might be, who knows what it is. But you know what the wife and I think it might be is you know we adopted Jack Jack from some lady peddling dogs, you know, just on the roadside, just throwing dogs at cars.

And when Jack fell into our car, you know, we pulled over to the side of the road, we said,

how old is this dog?

And the lady said, I don't think he's, he's about four, which was good because

that's how old our other dog, Oly is.

And we said, oh, the twinsies, age twinsies.

Well, I don't, we don't know how old Jack Jack is.

It's entirely possible we've been living with a senior dog all this time or at least an older dog than we had been led to believe.

Which might be good news because that could mean he's going to die sooner.

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