It wasn’t my fault that my dog developed a drinking problem.  Really.  It was the vet’s.

First of all, it is WAY too late to call the ASPCA on me.  The dog and my liver are both gone.  So is the vet.  And the neighborhood where this takes place is totally yuppified.  There are no witnesses.  Except me, and I ain’t talking.  Oh, actually, yes I am.

Anyway, like all drinking problems, Goliath’s started gently, innocently.

But I guess I’d better back up.

You see, if I’d had any sense, I wouldn’t have taken that psycho puppy home.  He was past the cute stage, and had clearly been abused.  He didn’t like me when I went to the door of the house where he had a short-term reprieve from the dog pound.  Jeff, the man who advertised the puppy in the Washington Post, had taken the dog away from his…