New Year's Eve

I’ve finally been determined well enough to have my first vaccination and take a wormy pill hidden in a cookie. Yay! It is December 31st, and the Vet has his office open for doggies like me who are eager to get shots. (What is a shot? My People are still mad because Evil Steve and his twin Wicked Wanda should have at least taken me for a check up and a wormy pill but were too lazy and mean.) Everyone at the Vet was really happy to see me, speaking freely about how I was “on death’s door” and how they “didn’t think I was going to make it.” I got lots of cookies and saw kindly Doctor Martin and Doctor Boudreaux, and Amber and the rest of the girls. When I peed on the floor here, they all giggled and said “Oops! He’s a leaker!” Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing?
Ok, I learned I don’t like shots. It isn’t so much the shot itself, but how it makes me feel later. I went crazy and asked to go outside about three hundred and fifty times, and dug up part of the yard in frenzy I just couldn’t control. Right before midnight I had a very nasty poopy incident on the patio. That was a big no-no since I’m supposed to go on the grass or behind a bush, but I couldn’t make it that far. This must have been extra bad this time because all the neighbors started yelling and hollering a couple of minutes later and fireworks and everything. The Lady and The Man were very worried and stayed up most of the night watching me, and kept offering to take me outside. On top of that, The Boy had his friend Rafe spend the night and they kept confusing me and calling me T-Bone and Little Rafe even though my name is Harbor, at least I think it is, for this week.