A Marked Difference in Ghosts Between One Place and the Next

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.

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