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Lucky number thirteen!

You’re the best, and I’m so grateful for every single day that you’re lying, sleeping, and farting at my feet. You’ve reached a fabulous thirteen, buddy!

That photo of Fab sitting in fresh snow is from this morning, but here’s a photo of her doing the same thing in 2007. She had just turned two.

The. Best.

Where twelve started,



We're gonna try and teach her how to dry dishes.

Thanks to Mirek and John for the gift,


Come on now.

…and the bleeding tumor (and spleen) they removed last week was benign.

Thank god.

What that means is, barring any complications that may arise during her recovery, she’s good to go. As always, we’ll be sure to keep you posted.

Thanks to everyone for their continued love and support.

A light at the end of a long, dark, depressing tunnel,


I mean, seriously.

If you know anything about Mr. Fabulous, you know she’s already cheated death a couple times. First, with an overdose that resulted in a stomach pumping and three-day hospitalization. Then, with a melanoma that gave her less than a 5% chance of living past nine months, even with surgery and treatment.

Well, last Thursday, she did it again.

After acting sluggish and odd all day Wednesday, I took her to the vet Thursday morning. She seemed in better spirits than she had been the day before, but everything changed when they ran a blood panel on her. Fab’s red blood cell count was plummeting, and they needed to find out why quickly.

The blood test turned into an X-ray, which revealed a mass in her belly. The X-ray turned into an ultrasound, which revealed that the mass was connected to her spleen and bleeding out. The ultrasound turned into emergency surgery, a splenectomy to be exact, which would hopefully save her life.

Before she went into surgery we all said goodbye to her, just in case. We went down this same exact road last November with Meatshake, and we were terrified that we would soon be reliving the same end result. If they opened Fab up and found that the disease was more widespread we gave them permission to put Fab out of her misery. However, if the tumor was concentrated only on the spleen, they would just remove the whole organ.

Thankfully, that’s exactly what happened. Mr. Fabulous came home—weary, shaved, doped up on pain meds, and spleen-less—late Friday night.

Oh, thank god.

She’ll be healing for the next two weeks, at which point she’ll get her staples removed. I’ll be sure to keep everyone posted on her progress.

At nearly twelve and a half years old, Fab is definitely a senior dog at this point, and we know the inevitable lies ahead. But for now, we’re just so thankful that we get to spend more time with her, no matter the length.

This dog, you guys. She’s got nine lives. Or at least four.

So happy to be able to write a post with a positive outcome,


KB & Grey Danger: Tag-Team Champions!

Yeah, brother. Seriously, a brother.

Pre-sex tape.

Fabulous mullet.

Hell yeah, brother,


Two cats shy of the whole family.

Did somebody say wish?

Don’t let Fox News fool you, even atheists are still saying it!

Not nearly as epic as last year’s card,


Mr. Fabulous hits a dozen!

Twelve looks great on you!

It seems like you were eleven just yesterday. Oh wait… you were.

Hard to believe she was only four months old when I adopted her.

Couldn’t ask for a better girl,


She literally ate the face off it.

…is no more.

But thanks for the memories, Jamie! She got good use out of it.

It’s been a month of loss,


Bacon is next!

She’s still got it,


…has placed an alert on Mr. Fabulous’ chart.


It’s true. She is.

Forever correcting people,


Old Poop!