Today was surreal.

Dad and I took the dog to the vet for an annual checkup. He's officially geriatric. (Eleven years?!) We got Barney when I was in first grade, and while I know he's not exactly a puppy anymore, I don't like thinking about the fact that he's officially old. He doesn't act old, but the chart at the vet's said he's the rough equivalent of a 65-year-old human. I politely disagree, but it doesn't change the fact that today I was sent into Target to buy antacid.

For my dog.

And as I tried to get out of there as quickly as possible, clutching my box of antacid (and nothing else), feeling like antacid is right up there with condoms, feminine hygiene products, and pregnancy tests as "things that are embarrassing to get caught buying," who did I run into but...

My first grade teacher, who happens to also be my neighbor.

Lamely, I confessed that I was buying antacid for my dog.

She told me her dog was constipated.

I told her I couldn't really talk because my dad and my dog were both waiting for me in the car.

It was awkward and kind of hilarious.

Also, even though my dog has bitten him before, the veterinarian likes him because the vet is Irish and my dog is a Wheaten Terrier [an Irish breed]? They put him in a muzzle now whenever we take him there. He doesn't like shots very much. :|

My poor geriatric dog.