I have a number of questions, America.
1. Can I trim up my dog’s lampshade collar? It’s so big that when she goes to eat, she can’t get her face close enough to the bowl to actually get any food and while I’m not that worried about her eating tons (though I’m glad to see she’s got her appetite), I do want her to be able to get as much water as she wants. Plus, I think she’d be much less freaked about being in it if it weren’t like being stuck way at the end of a large tunnel.
Right now, she has it off, because I took it off her to wash it and I can watch her to make sure she doesn’t bother her incision, but when we go to sleep or when we get back to our daily routines that don’t include just sitting on the couch watching her sleep, she’ll have to have it on and I want to make sure that goes as well as possible.
2. I’ve stopped giving her the sedative and she seems a lot happier. Still very stoned from the pain medication, but able to walk when we take her outside and she doesn’t just stare off like Keith Richards circa 1973. Plus, she seems to be actually sleeping now, as opposed to just kind of passing out. So, if she’s calm without it, I don’t see any reason to give it to her, do you?
3. You know how dogs have that third eyelid thingy? Both of hers are not fully retracting when she opens her eyes. I’m right now attributing this to the drugs and the fact that she’s probably a little dehydrated. But I’m keeping an eye on it.
4. That is all. I don’t have a four.
Today, Bill Hobbs broke me. I wondered if it would be him or me who broke first and I thought “Well, shoot, I don’t have to read him all the time, but he has to BE him all the time, so certainly, that weight will be too heavy on him long before it’s too heavy on me.”
I was wrong.
I read, over at Hobbs’s, these two posts in this order:
–That Barack Obama is friends with Jesse Jackson (because I’ve noticed guys just love to be friends with guys who express a desire to rip their nuts off)
–That the mainstream media is “Killing Their Own Credibility”
And I started laughing so hard that my eyeball now pains me.
You win, Bill Hobbs! You win! I give up.
Since Mrs. W’s boyfriend came over last night, I was able to go to watch the debate (Mrs. W loves everyone, but she is a complete floozy for the Redheaded Kid and the Professor, just utterly in love with them, I think because on the rare times she’s been dog sat, they’ve done the sitting).
I’ve watched the previous debates on MSNBC and only see the opinion tracker when they make fun of it, but last night we watched the debate on CNN, so I got to see it in action, and I’ll admit, I was mesmerized.
I don’t know what it means, if it means anything, but it seems like information and I so want to understand how to interpret the information I’m seeing. But who the hell knows?
As for the debate, I still think that the problem McCain has is just that he looks so bad, so much like he’s just animated by piss, vinager, and spite and the second any one of the three of those goes out of him, he’s going to deflate like a balloon or a bald tire.
The folks on CNN didn’t like Obama’s professorial tone, but he’s a professor, so what can you do?
The thing that keeps sticking in my head, watching the debate and watching the undecideds chart their emotional responses to the candidates is this, we had one woman in our group who I kept an eye on both because she’s a nurse (so I knew she’d have some strong opinions on healthcare) and because she doesn’t follow politics with the same ferocity as the rest of us. I thought her reaction to the debate would be less colored by that nonsense.
Three things stood out to me. 1. She was howling every time Joe the Plumber came up, after about the second time, like it was the punchline to the funniest joke she had heard all week. 2. She laughed and laughed at the idea that we would just move folks directly from the armed forces into teaching without giving them any tests. and 3. she got so angry listening to John McCain talking about his healthcare plan that she got up out of her chair.
Maybe we can discount 3 because of her obvious bias. But I just don’t think it can be good for your candidate when he’s unintentionally making people laugh.
At the end of the evening, she said, “Well, I’m just going to get me some fatigues and a machine gun and…”
“And go be a school teacher?”
“No, and have all those white guys voting with their dicks for me for President.”
Ha, I’m sorry. But that’s just funny.
As you’ll recall, we jokingly said that we had ghosts of the Civil War at our last place, since we were living in an old Union camping spot, and our awesome can opener mysteriously disappeared.
Well, we may have a ghost here, an actual ghost, judging by both the weird experience our friends had and the weird experience I had this morning.
So, I was worried about the dog’s first night home, since the story at the vet’s was that she was on morphine and some other pain medications and was still so obnoxious that they had to sedate her (which should tell you how absolutely she hated being there, right there, because as anyone who has had major surgery can tell you, normally you sleep afterwards whether you want to or not. So, I slept kind of lightly just trying to keep an ear on her here, to see how she was going to do.
All went well until about four in the morning (this all seems like a part of the ghost story, but it’s actually not; it’s a part of the dog story, which is framed by the ghost story, just for clarification), when I heard her crying a little bit.
So, I got up and came in here and laid down with her and rubbed her back while she slept. Then after about an hour, I got back up and went to bed.
So, cue me getting up this morning, because it’s my turn to give her her pain meds, which both have to be chopped in half. I go out to the kitchen and see that the Butcher used a knife and a cutting board to get his halfs last night.
But, and I swear this is the truth, I come back in here and sitting on the edge of the mantle, where I never ever have seen it before (in fact I hadn’t seen it since the move) is THE CAN OPENER!
Ha, no. But I bet that freaked the shit out of a few of you.
No, it was the pill cutter we got at Walgreens when we had to give Mrs. W a half a baby aspirin a day for a while.
I have to ask the Butcher if he found it someplace last night after he medicated her, but I’m sure it wasn’t on the mantle when I went to bed.
Also, I swear Mrs. W looks like some rock star. I need to take a picture. She’s got a lampshade on her head, she can barely stand, and sometimes she’ll kind of raise up on her front legs to look at you and her eyes will only just about half open. She’s all like “Whaaaaaa—aaaatttttttt the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, Duuuuuuudddddeeee?”
I didn’t give her the sedative, though. Since–and please, insert snotty tone here–we haven’t had any trouble at all keeping her calm.
I should take a picture for y’all to see.