Tell that to George Zipp

I was all set to write a nice little post about the surprise baby shower my sisters-in-law threw us on Sunday (and it really was cute and awesome and unexpected...and I'm really happy to say that we now have too many cute outfits to choose from for her picture at the hospital instead of trying to figure out which newborn onesie to take with us because it has the least amount of puke stains on it), but then I got to work today and saw an email from my sister that her bulldog, Buster, died. Awww. Buster had developed Addison's disease a couple months ago (who even knew a dog could get that?) and wasn't doing well. So it wasn't a huge shock, I don't think, but still very sad as he was a good, loyal dog and only 8 years old. But between Buster's untimely end and Preshose's death a couple weeks ago, I'm starting to worry about the rest of the pets on my side of the family. I think my older sister's dog and the Wubby J. need to go into hiding or something. I feel like there's some weird, cat-and-dog Final Destination stuff going on, and it's freaking me out.