Otterpop would totally say Happy Easter if she wasn’t shivering in the back of a crate jonesing on tramadol. Oh wait. Oh no she wouldn’t. Because she’s Otterpop. She’d probably tell you to go shove that rock hard happy egg right up your you know what.

Her condition is one the kind emergency vet called Painful Chihuahua. When your little dog comes in screaming in pain and the xray shows just a bunch of arthritis down the spine but probably, really, there’s a disc out of wack or a nerve pinched or who knows what. Only your painful chihuahua.

Best diagnosis without some spendy MRI and more expansively expensive prodding and poking, is heavy drugs and locked in a crate to see if it goes away. I think Otterpop don’t mind sliding away to those drugs. The locked in a crate sucks eggs. She’s doing her best sleeping right here right now on the sunshiney part of the day and will probably do her best Painful Chihuahua tearjerking in the middle of the night again.

Lunar eclipse? Jesus crucifix complex? Diabolical effort to thwart moving day of the shred that’s left of my business? Goddamn you, Otterpop. Whatever happened to Otterpop totally blows in a grande way. Where I go, Otterpop goes and shit like this don’t happen to Otterpop. Only it did.