In retrospect, it's easy to see meaning in things where maybe there wasn't any, but that's the way we silly humans are, I guess. We need stories about our lives to make sense. We struggle to understand our experiences as cohesive narratives that follow some sort of reason. I know this. It does not stop me from doing it. And so I know it both to be true and probably not when I tell you that after the first couple of days with Goose here, Licorice---the dog who took several YEARS to warm up to Duncan, and who generally practiced disdain for all other four-legged creatures---took to lying down...
Licorice lasted about 2 weeks on her new glaucoma regimen before she started squinting again, and back to the vet ho$pital we went. They put her on a third eye drop, and so far, so good. So she now gets three different eye drops three times a day, but also they have to be given at least 5 minutes apart, so each dosing period is referred to as the Parade of Eye Squirts, but we've all acclimated. She doesn't mind at all. ("That's because she never sees it coming," explained Monkey with an arched eyebrow, proving that his comedic delivery remains unrivaled.) Chickadee and Sunny are coming home...
In the continuing saga of "old dogs are old," Licorice has done her level best to fill the void Duncan left behind. (Understand that by "void" I mean "need for expensive trips to the vet.") I mentioned before that she had some accidents in the house (unusual for her), but---in the immortal words of Billy Mays---WAIT, THERE'S MORE. One day this summer, and honestly I can't even remember when, now, Licorice started limping. She was favoring her back left leg. We've always joked that Licorice is part gazelle due to her impressive vertical leap, and because she is an old lady now (you never...
I don't know how to ease into this so I won't. Duncan is no longer undead, he's just regular dead, now. And it feels shitty and morbid to put it like that, but I don't think he would mind. If Duncan could've spoken English I like to believe he would've cussed like a sailor and been very blunt. "Listen, I'm 207 fucking years old now. I can't hear. I can barely see. My brain's going and I piss everywhere and when you let me go, don't pussyfoot around it and say I 'passed on' or 'went forever to sleep' or anything. Just say I'm dead. But also remind everyone that I was a legend because I...
I swear I didn't mean to pop in three months ago, mention I was horribly depressed, tell a story about dog poop, and then disappear again. That's what happened, but it wasn't intentional. My intentions are always more like "I'll post this and then I'll get back to updating regularly, and with less angst" because hope springs eternal. Then life happens. You know how it is. The bad news is that it's been three entire months AND I'm not really even sure I would know how to live a life that is free from angst, so---intentions or not---my plan, such as it was, is not salvageable. Then again, if...
Hello again! Happy over-a-year-of-our-new-hellscape, and I hope you sensibly celebrated by getting takeout or something. I, apparently, decided to celebrate one year of lockdown by telling both my regular depression and my seasonal depression to hold my beer, and then proceeding to plunge into the pit of despair for most of February and March. I remained as sensible as possible during this time (which is to say, not at all) and every week got online with my therapist and defended my ridiculous behavior as if it was all totally normal and fine, because no longer talking to anyone or doing...
We're rather like a nature preserve, over here, if you like your nature preserve with a motley assortment of dying plants and high-strung creatures, that is. I thought before telling you the new news, I should probably cover some old news. Good old news, even! 1) We have not had a recurrence of any car mice. Thank God. 2) Nor have we had a recurrence of any possums in the pool. (In fact, there hasn't been anything of note in the pool for a while, or maybe Otto is just no longer telling me, which would also be fine.) 3) Despite the fact that we are rapidly coming up on a year from Duncan's...
Hello! The husband and I and some friends went out to see a concert last night and this morning I feel positively hungover even though I didn't drink. It's the staying up late during the week, you see. I am old. Plus the concert venue was one without seating, which meant we stood for a zillion hours (okay, maybe three?) and did I mention I am old and my usual location is sitting at a computer? Because that. Also my hair smells like flavored vape smoke and you kids should get off my lawn. Anyway. Hold that thought. First I thought I'd update you on the current state of elderly dog-ness in our...
Hello! A couple of people have asked and I didn't want to leave anyone hanging after you were all so sweet about my jerkface of a dying dog. Duncan is indeed still with us--after the first couple of days home he started eating again (but picky-like, so now he's getting canned food like the prince he is) and perked up considerably. We all spent several days watching him in amazement and commenting to one another, "He sure doesn't ACT like he's dying" and although I publicly declared I wasn't going to get my hopes up, lo, my hopes were up, because the medication was clearly working and he...
