Home Again

I'm at my parents' house recovering after gastric by-pass surgery (oh I know, I wasn't fat enough for it, thanks a lot). My mother is driving me nuckin' futs. I lover her, but she's driving herself crazy now that my dog is here. She is now claiming that she's allergic to him. She's wound tighter than a golf ball, she damned near gives him a bath each time he comes back from a walk. She says that he was sniffing other dog's poo and pee. I tried to make her understand that just because he smelled it, doesn't mean he ate it or rolled in it, the smelly particles have not clung to his nose. She took a Benadryl and slept for 12 hours. I'm going home early I think. I'd rather suffer in pain and try to recover on my own than watch my poor dog pace back and forth. Looking into his brown puppy eyes is killing me. He's not comfortable sleeping on the hard tiles in the kitchen, he isn't allowed on any of the furniture, and he sure as hell isn't allowed to sleep with me. He doesn't think of here as home, so I think I'll be going to my home, where my dog can snuggle next to me.