I’m writing this Friday at 6:15 p.m. and I’ll have you know it’s pretty much the first time I’ve sat up all day. Yes, friends, I’m sick. A sicko. Under the weather. A bit peaked. In other words, I don’t feel well. I’ll pause here to give you time to feel sorry for me before I continue. Done feeling sorry? Then let’s continue.
The reason this is a big deal is because I hardly ever get sick. Seriously. Mind over matter. I get injured frequently, but not sick. When I feel I’m not up to par in the energy department, I tell myself: I feel good, I feel great. I down a packet of Emergen-C, get to bed before midnight and the next morning, bingo-bango. I’m me again.
The last time I was this sick was on a trip to Spain in 2013. Just like now, I lost my voice, acquired bronchitis, and was knocked hard on my butt. I don’t mind the coughing all night, having to sleep upright, nor the disgusting stuff one coughs up with bronchitis. But losing my voice? That’s torture for me. Can’t speak for my friends (or to them!) but my guess is they’re enjoying the silence. Sadly for them, I’ve become quicker at texting.
Remember Chatty Cathy dolls? Pull the cord and she talks. I guess you could say I’m a larger version of her. But now my cord is jammed. Curse you bronchitis! So today I stayed prone just about all day. I know I’m sick when I’m not hungry, but I forced myself to eat a pear this afternoon at 2:30, then I napped.
I think you all know how much I’ve struggled with house training my one-year-old Dachshund mix, Wally. He’s either the most stubborn dog this side of New York or not a very bright canine. I’d say maybe both.
After his first bath
My friend Patty adopted a Dachshund mix a day before I took home Wally last summer. Unlike me, she has a history with the breed and wanted a companion for her full-on Dachshund, Jimmy Dean.
Enter Ali. Hard as it is to believe, Ali is even cuter than Wally. But Patty’s pup has the same issues as Wally. Yippee!
I hate killing things. I shoo flies from the house and scoop up spiders to bring outside. When my cats bring in lizards (once I found one staring back at me from my pantry shelf), I place them in my critter container used specifically for their release.
I’m considered to be a pescatarian, not to be confused with a Presbyterian. That means I don’t eat meat but will eat seafood. Prawns, calamari and scallops are the extent of my fish consumption. They don’t have faces, making it somewhat easier for me to swallow them.
Thanks for not eating me
I suppose technically prawns and calamari have faces, so someday I probably won’t be eating them either. I don’t know how long I can handle the guilt before I go completely veggie. I’m Catholic so I harbor a fair amount of guilt. Continue reading
Last Friday I’m driving to Forgotten Felines to deliver feral cats being relocated to new outdoor homes. On the way, I stopped to quickly train a group of ladies who volunteered to feed cats living near the fairgrounds.
While at a stoplight, my phone pinged. I glanced at it on the passenger seat. It was Forgotten Felines. Why were they contacting me? Something must be wrong. So I picked up my phone to read the text. Damn! It said they needed to postpone until Monday but to keep driving if I’m already on my way.
Relieved, I put the phone down. Then I glanced to my left. There, staring back at me, was a policeman.