Dang it. That stinks.

Says Izzy every. single. day. when she is getting dressed.
She asks me, "Will it be hot or cold today?"
"Cold, Izzy. For many, many days. It's almost winter."
"Dang it. That stinks. I wanted to wear my pink shorts."
Every day.
I have never denied that we are a certain percentage of redneck. And if you don't stop lecturing me on her choice of words, I'll pull out my handy-dandy duct tape and tape your mouth shut. Heck yep.

Dang it. That stinks that we need to get rid of Harley. Turns out, he thinks he needs to show the neighbor kids that he is more powerful then them and sends them home in tears. I don't need another dog, but I do need those neighbor kids. They keep my kids outside, burning off their energy. He's a really good dog for someone without kids. We decided to keep the kids and return the dog.

Dang it. That stinks that Logan needs to go for an arthrogram and MRI. No answers on the hip issue yet. They need a better look to understand what all is going on and what to do about it. It could be loose bone pieces in the socket that aren't showing up on x-ray. Answers are hopefully coming our way. (Oh, I failed to mention: his most recent x-rays show that his hip took a turn for the worst. The top of the bone has a flat head, instead of being rounded as it should.)

Dang it. That stinks. Kaija, again. This diarrhea better clear up soon.