The Ballad of Seamus O'Horny

So...
Having a boy dog has been quite a learning experience.

As I mentioned in my last entry, I adopted a boy Eskie and I wasn't aware of how much I had apparently forgotten about boy dogs in the twenty years since I had one.

My first episode of male dog ignorance happened only a few days after I adopted Seamus when I came home from work and he greeted me by rolling over for a belly rub. As I was rubbing his belly I noticed two lumps on either side of his peen. Being the calm, rational person that I am I immediately assumed that he either had undescended testicals or lymphoma. Luckily I checked Vet MD and it turns out that Seamus was just rather happy to see me. Apparently this swelling can happen even if your dog is neutered, however I was soon to discover that Seamus is not. How I discovered this charming fact is because our family dog, Lily, was in the middle of her heat when I brought Seamus home.

Fuck my life and fuck it hard.

I literally almost pee myself laughing at this picture. HAHA!

Lily being in heat wasn't an issue at first because Seamus was too nervous about his new surroundings to pay attention to Lily's state. This was despite the fact that Lily was walking by Seamus and wiggling her ass at him like she was in a Ludacris video. As Seamus became more comfortable though he began to notice Lily's booty dance and the next thing I knew Seamus was trying to get jiggy with it. Once he became interested then it became a fucking circus to keep the two of them apart. Lily would fluctuate between jumping at Seamus and shaking her ass to growling at him to get away from her. Seamus, on the other hand, was acting like a sailor on shore leave and would not stop sniffing, pawing and above all whining incessantly at Lily to get it on with him. This is what he would do while she was laying down, but he would kick it up a notch when she got up to walk somewhere by adding some pretty impressive acrobatics to his wooing. To my surprise I discovered that dogs can bounce--I'm talking all four paws leaving the ground at the same time in a vertical propulsion. Those Pepe Le Pew cartoons? Not an exaggeration.

Luckily Lily's heat cycle is pretty much finished and Seamus has chilled out however we are keeping Lily's little knickers on her just to be safe because she's still having bouts of trying to seduce Seamus. (And before anyone considers getting sassy with me about Lily not being spayed I'll add that yes she should have been spayed but she wasn't and she's going to be thirteen years old next week so it's not happening; I'll likely have Seamus neutered but my brain is still too fried from Kira's vet adventure in March to think about it right now.)

Other than my horny dog, I've been writing away and my next post is actually going to be about that and not my dogs.

Probably.

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It's a Boy

I only had a few minutes at the computer--time that I could have spent on my manuscript--but instead I was Facebook, a place that I don't even like and avoid except when my mother needs me to help her with Farmville missions. I wasn't friends with the person at whose profile I was staring, however I could send them a message. I continued to stare as the clocked ticked down to you-have-to-get-the-fuck-out-of-here o'clock and finally pressed the damn button and sent my message.

"Hi, my friend send me a text that you are trying to find a home for your dog?"

Thus our story begins.

The woman was indeed looking for a home for her American Eskimo boy and while I had always wanted to adopt another dog, I wasn't sure how Kira the Diva would handle it. She's good with puppies, but it's touch and go with adult dogs. The Eskie boy who needed a home was six years old so I was somewhat relieved when the woman messaged me a few days later that it looked like a friend of hers was going to take him.

About a week later, she messaged me again saying that she hadn't been able to get a hold of the guy and that if I was still willing to give the boy a home that she would really appreciate it. She was giving the guy until Friday to get back to her and would message me if he didn't. Part of me was hoping that the guy would message her, but the other, bigger part was already worried about how good of a parent this guy would be if he was already this blase about the adoption.

First pic! On our way home.

To make a long story, that Sunday I became a fur-mommy again.

His name was Snowy and while I wasn't crazy about that name, I thought that we could call him "Jon-Snowy" because that's the kind of "Game of Thrones" nerd I am. Instead we ended up calling him Seamus, short for "The Wee Eskie Seamus" because that's the kind of Archer nerd I am.

The first thing I noticed when we picked up Seamus was that he was missing a large patch of fur on his back near his tail. His original parent told me that he lost it because of the change of season, but I recognize the effects of fleas and knew that this was more likely the case--particularly when I rubbed him and felt the bumps and scabs back there. Sure enough I actually saw the little fuckers crawling on him during the drive home. Even though I didn't want to traumatize him more than he already was at being taken by two strangers from his home of six years, my mother and I knew that we had to stop and give him a bath and start him on flea treatment. We stopped at the pet supply store (that has these spa-like bath that I'm half tempted to jump in) and began washing him. As his fur became wet we saw just how scabbed and red he was not only on the entire lower half of his back but also parts of his belly and his man-junk. (It was seriously horrible and I'll spare you the pictures.) The good news is that, while he trembled and whimpered a bit as we washed him, as soon as he was toweled off (and in a collar since they had only had a leash on him that acted like a choker), he hopped around with excitement and then rolled over for a belly rub. I think he knew that we were trying to help him.

I'm trying to keep this as short as possible and failing miserably so I'll just let ya'all know that all of the feverent prayers that I had been saying that Kira and Seamus would get along were answered. It's seriously a fucking miracle because I have never seen Kira so friendly a strange dog--particuarly when that dog is invading her house. I think she sensed that Seamus needed us.

It'll be two week on Sunday that we've had him and he is such a sweet dog. He is a total belly rub fiend but gives lots of kisses as thanks. Also his back and man-junk are nearly completely healed and his fur is already starting to grow back where he had pulled it out. It's been an adventure already so yes, prepare yourself for even more dog anecdeotes because, as with everyone in my family, he's kinda mental.

He lays with his legs out behind him. It's weird and adorable.

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But He Will Be Missed

"It's okay. He had been suffering a long time."

I've said the words so many times this past week they've become a reflex and I wonder if I really mean them, if I ever meant them.

No, I did. And I do. But I've come to realized that a tiny voice in my mind has started to add, "But he will be missed."

My uncle was a good person who never intentionally hurt anyone. Unfortunately he made some poor choices in his life that hurt himself, and I don't think he ever realized how much it did hurt us to see him struggle. It irked the shit out of me to see him make huge strides toward a better life only to blow it all on another bad choice. In recent years he had finally showed consistent progress but I think I'd been subconsciously concentrating on what he had done that made me angry when he got sick because it's easier to be mad than sad.

My uncle's battle with End Stage Liver Disease ended last Monday.

It's okay. He had been suffering a long time.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

At least until my bitch of a brain betrays me as it often does, and the memories came floating through.

Memories of my uncle making me pancakes when I was in elementary school and then me telling him that he couldn't move away because who would make them for me when he left.
Of taking my grandmother and me to dinner at the restaurant in Virginia where he got his first job as a chef.
Of introducing me to "Interview with a Vampire".
Of watching UFC matches at P.J. Whelihan's and drinking Smithwick's which I had never had before.
Of taking the injured gosling I had saved to the wildlife rescue because I couldn't miss work to take it there. (He named it Matilda because she/he had a broken leg and "tilted".)
Of going to see the Flyers.
Of watching my brother and him ride the roller coasters at Great Adventure.
Of him whispering that I looked beautiful as he passed me on his way to the podium to read at my wedding.

I tried to ignore them all, but grief is the piper who insists on being paid.

So it's okay. He had been suffering a long time.

But he will be missed.

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Everclear and Preparation H

If you're scratching your head already at the title then let me blow your mind a little more by telling you that this is yet another post that has to do with my dog.

Welcome to my life.

The day after the Waterworld disaster in my kitchen--(it's funny how I added "disaster" after Waterworld, isn't it? As if it wasn't already understood that anything referencing a Kevin Costner film is a disaster)--my brother mentioned to me that Kira kept scooting around the carpet. He thought that it was gross yet hilarious, while I on the other hand thought that it was gross yet upsetting because I knew that this meant that there was something wrong with her rear end, namely that she needed to have her anal glands expressed.

I feel their pain.

If you're a dog owner then you are already familiar with this most pleasant aspect of dog care and if you are not then I'm not going to traumatize you with the disgusting explanation. Either way I'm going to skip over the wretched details and flash forward to this weekend when Kira was continuing to scoop despite no longer having a clinical reason to do this because, you see, my dog has friggin' OCD. The problem with this obsessive compulsive scooting was that she was starting to really irritate herself. (Again going to skip the details though my brother nearly busted a gut and managed to take a picture of me wrestling with Kira to examine her rear AND NO I AM NOT SHARING IT HERE BECAUSE YOU ARE ALREADY WAY TOO JEALOUS OF MY ROCKSTAR LIFE.)

My mother luckily helped to hold Kira still as I inflicted this indignation on her. "Maybe you should put some Preparation H on her," my mother said.

"Is there any in the house?" I asked because despite my variety of health issues, I have never had the need for such a medication. (And that's your TMI moment for today, peeps.)

"I don't think so. Dad used witch hazel."

"Oh this is going to be fun," I sneered, "buying hemorrhoid cream for my dog."

My mother rolled her eyes. "It's not a big deal. A lot of people need it."

"But I do not! People are going to think I have ass problems!" I whined because that's how mature I am.

"People aren't going to think anything!" my mother insisted.

"Yes they will!" I said, again demonstrating incredible poise and maturity. Then a light went on in my brain and I gasped with glee. "Oh wait! They could just think that I'm a cokehead!"

"What?" My mother gave me her usual incredulous look.

"Yeah, cokeheads put Preparation H in their nostrils to reduce the swelling from snorting that shit," I told her.

"How do you even know that?" she shook her head.

"How do you not?" I asked. I paused for a second. "Actually you're right, I don't know how I know that, but that's the fun of living in my brain; even I don't know what I'm going to say until it flies out of my face."

"So you would rather someone thought you were on drugs than you had hemorrhoids," Mumma grimaced.

"Yes. Though to be fair many people already assume that I am."

After consulting with a retired vet though it was decided that hydrocortisone would be a better option. Unfortunately I was out of this, so I had to run to the store anyway. While I was picking up the hydrocortisone I remembered that I needed to get dental wipes for Kira's teeth, too. After the nightmare of her dental cleaning I'm taking pains to keep her teeth healthy.

I picked up the jar of doggy dental wipes, looked at the list of ingredients and then placed it back on the shelf met my mother at the checkout.

"We have to stop at the liquor store," I told her. "I need some Everclear."

My mother looked at me since she knew that after my Smurf adventure I was never, ever touching that shit again.

"It's for Kira."

Again she just looked.


"Yes I was going to get her dental wipes but the ingredients were water and grain alcohol, so I'll just get her some Everclear."

"Preparation H and Everclear," my mother shook her head. "You really are living like a rockstar."

"My dog is anyway."


(AFTER NOTE: I did not give my dog Everclear.)

(AFTER NOTE 2: I have since been told that people also use Preparation H is also used for wrinkles which resulted it another discussion about how I knew that drug addicts shove it up their nose but not that people use it for that.)

Also if you want to see the rockstar Kira in action, here is our latest (and last) BarkBox video:

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And Then I Ripped Out a Kitchen Faucet With My Bare Hands

Aside it being super-duper crunch time with my manuscript, another reason that posts have been sparse is because I have been so busy with super-duper crunch time that I haven't been engaging in the world outside of my computer enough to experience the usual what-the-fuckery that inspires a good deal of my posts. Well if Mohammad won't come to the mountain then the mountain will apparently come to Mohammad because there I was minding my own business in my own home on Saturday night when bullshit struck.

After putting in a nine hour day at my part-time job as an optometry tech, I sat down at my desk in the dining room to get some writing done. (There's nothing like nine hours of dealing with whacko patients to inspire me to get work harder at my writing.) My mother was at her computer in the same room flipping out at Farmville.

"Did you start writing yet?" my mother asked.

"Not yet, I was still catching up on responding to tweets from Wednesday about my hair cut," I responded.

"Oh good. Can you hit my Farmville request before you start?"

I opened another window on my computer and responded to another tweet as I waited for the game to load.

"I should have assured people that I wasn't chopping off my hair when I mentioned getting it cut," I told my mother. My brother had turned on the faucet in the kitchen and raised my voice a bit to be heard over the water running at full blast. "I got several messages telling me to keep it long."

"What?" my mother asked over the sound of the water from the other room.

"My hair," I said louder. "I should have made it clear that I never cut my above my shoulders because I like to keep it long enough that it covers my boobs if I ever forget to wear a shirt."

"What the hell?" my mother asked.

"I know, that's absurd," I snickered. "With my amount of boobage I could never grow enough hair to cover them."

"No not that," my mother answered looking toward the kitchen. "What's your brother doing in the sink?"

"I don't know. It sounds like he's rising it out."

"Mike, what are you doing with the sink?" Mumma yelled.

"Nothing," he shouted from the den.

My mother and I looked at each other and then bolted for the kitchen. We ran in to discover a small waterfall pouring out of cabinet under the sink and a massive pool spreading in front of it. I ripped open the cabinet door and stepped back just in time to avoid being burned by the scalding hot water that was spraying all over under the sink. I glanced inside and saw that the hot water supply line had burst. The water was now pouring out of the open cabinet only that it was too hot for me to turn off the water supply under the sink.

"Turn off the main water supply!" I shrieked.

"I WILL EAT YOUR FACE, SINK!"

Mumma ran into the laundry room but by the time she got the valve closed the burst water line had turned the kitchen into something out of a Kevin Costner movie. And much like a Kevin Costner movie I wanted to close my eyes and pretend I had never seen the disaster in front of me.

"I don't feel like dealing with this," I groaned.

"Mike you fix it!"

"I can't. I'm drunk," my ever-helpful brother replied. I happened to glance at the kitchen table and saw the remains of a Long Island Iced Tea sitting there.

"No you're not," I sneered.

"Well I'm buzzed," he insisted.

"I'll fix it," my mother interrupted.

"You are not getting under a sink with scalding hot copper pipes!" I bellowed. And that was how it was decided that I was going to be spending Saturday night fixing a kitchen sink.

My mother emptied the cabinet and then I wedged myself into the cramped and soaking cabinet to survey the damaged. It was fairly easily to disconnect the supply hose from the water pipe but I could not reach the other end of the hose attached to the faucet.

A slight footnote here: the kitchen faucet had been most shittily installed only a couple of years ago and had been leaking. I had fixed it somewhat (with a broken hand at the time 'cause I am a rockstar like that) but it was never exactly perfect. My mother had bought a new faucet in preparation of a friend promising to instal it however that douche canoe kept blowing her off until she gave up.

"That's it! We are getting rid of this piece of trash right now and I'm putting in that new faucet!" I yelled.

"Just leave it for now, Kat. We can do it in the morning," Mumma said calmly.

"Like hell! Give me that wrench!" I again wedged myself into the damp wood of the cabinet and began banging, unscrewing bolts and cursing loudly.

"Are you sure that you're going to be able to get it out?" my mother asked.

I wriggled out from the cabinet--which, between the garbage disposal and my aforementioned ridiculous chest, took the skill of a Circus Soleil performer--grabbed the faucet and ripped the fucker out of the counter top. "Yes," I replied dropping the faucet into the garbage bag on the floor.

I'd like to say that all went smoothly from there, but though I am a fast learner, I know next to nothing about plumbing so that when I ran out to Lowe's to get the needed supply line THAT DIDN'T COME WITH THE NEW FACET I bought the wrong one.

"What the fuck does FIP, MIP, OD stand for?" I snarled at Google.

Once I had figured out with a degree of confidence I realized that Lowe's had closed. Again my mother urged me to leave the sink until the morning but there was a Home Depot not too far away and they were still open so I took off again.

"I'm 99% sure that I have the right line," I announced when I got home thirty minutes later holding two braided silvery pipes. "And they better be," I said shoving myself once again under the sink, "because the next time I crawl out of this cabinet I'm not going back in. So I might be sleeping in here."

Fortunately it didn't come to that and while it was a pleasure describing the tools I needed Mumma to hand me which I had not brought under the sink with me, I managed to install the new faucet before midnight.

The new faucet. (Also my GoT glasses kick ass.)

So that was my weekend.
(Try not to be jealous of my glamorous rockstar lifestyle.)

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An Abundance of Smart Ass(terisks)

I'm a bit MIA.*

*Again.

*sobs*

And what's worse is that my superstition about announcing-something-until-it-has-already-happened-in-case-something-fucks-it-up keeps me from disclosing everything that has kept me from interacting with my kickass peeps on here. Just take my word for it (for now since I can't wait until I can scream my face off) that I've been working like a bitch on the down and dirty aspect of being a writer--aka the business aspect of writer--and it's extremely time expensive and about as much fun as going through your recently deceased great-aunt's belongings and finding her collection of foot long dildos.**

**Though not nearly as awkward, so there's that.

This makes me snicker 'cause that's how I roll.

This business-y type work is of course in addition to recovering from the trauma of nearly losing my beloved Eskie at the beginning of the month--which a normal person would be over by now but I, on the other hand, have anxiety issues and thus continue to have spazz attacks and feel the need to stop what I'm doing and cuddle her.***

***Kira, being fully recovered, isn't too happy when I do this since it usually disturbs her from a nap.

In the meantime I did make a video in reference to the two cases that the Supreme Court is hearing about same sex marriage this week.****

****Some of you are probably thinking that a video would take longer than actually writing a post but not for me; as much as I enjoy "vlogging" I don't worry over it as much as I do about my written words and so I can do a vlog in a fourth of the time that I do a written blog post.

Some people will hate this video because they are stupidasses who won't get the tongue-in-cheekiness of it*****, and some people will hate it because they disagree, but that's their prerogative. All I ask is that if anyone feels the need to express that they disagree that they do it with respect.

*****I already have one of these and for the record, I am pro-marriage and said commenter is a moron.

In closing, it's after 1am as I write this and I'm really bloody tired, but thank you so much for being here, my dear peeps.*******

*******Also, I know I say "thank you" a lot, but I truly mean it. I've had to deal with a lot of shit in my life and I just want it known how grateful I am for the support that you all have given me.

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Oh Hello March, You Fucking Douche Nozzle

Happy Ides of March!

In honor of this holiday, and to explain why I've been MIA for over two weeks, I present a fictional tale of me and Julius Caesar, another person who has cause to think that March sucks.

STORY TIEMZ!

(I'm doing this because, for one, it amuses me to have arguments in my brain with dead people, and two, because making it somewhat funny helps me deal.)

(For those of you who don't fancy a story but still want to know where the hell I've been you can CUT TO THE CHASE.))

****************

As I sat down at my computer, the ghostly visage of man wearing a torn and blood splattered toga appeared before me. It was Julius Caesar.

"What the fuck do you want?" I snarled at him.

"You speak with barbed tongue toward one who merely appears to share lamentations about this cursed month," he replied looking hurt.

"Look Caesar, we went through this last year. March is much more of a shitty month for me than for you," I replied.

"I would see us revisit this argument and draw new conclusion," he said in that snotty tone of his. "Our last meeting saw your quarters recently abandoned in favor of more familiar surroundings."

"Yes, I moved from my apartment during which I nearly cracked my head open on a coffee table and then spent the next month trying to unearth my shit from the mountains of boxes scattered around the house. I still haven't found my K-Y Jellies from Around the World collection," I glared. "And I had to hunt through those boxes with a broken hand."

"Ah yes a broken hand. Such an injury is surely more grievous than say being stabbed twenty-three times," he slapped a hand against his chest where deep gashes could be seen weeping bloody tears through the shredded toga.

"Oh please! Not only did I break my hand but I had to deal with an awful doctor."

"And I was afforded no physician!" Caesar countered.

"That's the best thing that couldn't happened to you! Apparently doctors turn to into complete idiot-moron-assholes in March and even if you had made it to a doctor you would have died anyway!"


Caesar sighed and pulled out a chair. "As you wish. But these events are stale and I would brooch argument with events of more recent days. Favor me with details of the slights seen in this March."

"Okay, let me just break it down for you, Emperor-boy." I gave a humorless laugh, "On Tuesday of the first week of March I received a letter stating that I owed the government for money in back taxes."

He nodded, "Alas one must render onto Caesar what is Cae-"
"Shut up," I snapped. "I didn't owe 'Caesar' shit. My ex-husband received a large sum of money and filed it with my social security number."

"A misfortune, yet one surely corrected by merely presenting evidence of such duplicity."

"Oh surely," I said in my most sarcastic tone, "because it is so easy to have something corrected within the government--especially when my anal fissure of an ex used his own birth date and fucked up mine in their records."

"Perhaps if you spoke to them more gently," Caesar tilted his head in reproach.

"You mean that maybe I shouldn't have told them that their words fall from mouth like shit from ass?" I snarled.

Caesar look startled and opened his mouth to reply.

"I did not say that," I interrupted him, "but I could have. But let me continue because that was hardly the worst thing that happened last week. I had mentioned that my dog was having surgery, remember?"

"I recall such an entry," he nodded.

"She had the surgery on Thursday which should have been a simple teeth extraction and scaling, but this is of course my life and nothing is simple.
"I dropped Kira off at the vet's surgical center at 8:30 in the morning and was told that the office would call me after lunch to let me know that she was ready to be picked up. As it happened I did not hear from the vet until after 2pm and it was to tell me that Kira's heart rate had dropped near the end of the surgery so they took her off the anesthesia and gave her oxygen. That was several hours ago however and her heart rate was still low and her blood pressure was dropping. The vet had given her medication to counter the anesthesia but Kira still wasn't waking up.

"I called my mother to meet me at the surgical center and then left to go there with my cousin. My aunt ended up driving my mother and she arrived at the vet's office a few minutes behind us. The vet tech took us into an exam room and finally brought my Kira to me. She was completely limp and felt cold even through the blanket that they had wrapped her in. I tried talking to her, saying all of the words like "cat" and "walk" that would usually make her perk up but did not get any response.  The vet came back to listen to her heart a few times as I held her and reported that her heart was starting to drop again. She had that she may have an underlying heart condition that was causing her to struggle. She went out and then came back to tell me that she had called the emergency animal hospital and that they were waiting to see Kira immediately.

"We ran out the vet's door at which point my own heart issues kicked in and I started to collapse both from dizziness and from threatening hysteria. My mother grabbed Kira from my arms and we stumbled to the car where my aunt was waiting to drive us to the hospital. I kept talking to Kira as we drove but she was not responding. I placed my hand on her chest and felt her heart beating slower and slower until I finally let out a strangled cry that I was losing her. My mother grabbed Kira from my arms, shook her and screamed her name. Miraculously Kira's eyes opened slightly but then she went back under.

"We were nearly to the hospital when my aunt took a wrong turn and had to go into a jughandle that would have put us on the opposite side of the highway from the hospital. (Fuck you, New Jersey and your fucking roads.) The hospital was in sight so my mother and I jumped out of the car and ran down the block to the hospital. We burst into the hospital where the receptionist immediately called a nurse who appeared almost instantly and took Kira from us into the back room. What followed where thirty of the longest minutes of my life.

"We were finally told that we could go into an empty room and that the vet would be in to see us. As I went into the room and sat in the chair all I could think of was that this was how it happened with my dad. He arrived at an emergency room and then we were shoved into a back room where a doctor came in to tell us that he was gone. I sat in a stupor waiting to hear the same thing about my Kira.

"The vet finally came into the room and told us that they had done an EKG on Kira and there was nothing wrong with her heart. They gave her different medications to counter the previous ones and she had finally woke up. They needed to keep her overnight in case she went back under but if all went well then they expected to send her home the next day. My mother began to cry in relief but I was still in too much shock. And besides that the vet was already showing me a printout of what the bill would possibly be.

"I signed the voucher and went out to pay the receptionist. As I was signed the credit card slip, I happened to see a white ball of fluff toddle past the opposite door."

"'That's my dog!'" I shrieked. 'Can I see her?'"

"The receptionist called into the surgery area and then told me that I could wait in the back room again and they would let me see Kira."

She had stretched out her paw to touch me as she slept.

"The door to the surgery area finally opened and a very unsteady Kira walked into the room. She lifted her head slightly, looked at me, and then her tail have a few weak wags and she wobbled to me. I dropped to the ground to hold her and sobbed my fucking face off. I thought that I would never see Kira wag her tail at me again. We were all crying and rubbing her and my poor drugged pup finally drooped down and started to doze off. As much as I didn't want to leave her I knew she needed her rest, and I also wanted to make sure that the vet was watching in case Kira went into more than just a nap, so I let the nurse carry her back to her crate."

"The vet called me later that night to assure me that while Kira had some bloody diarrhea and regurgitation, she was still doing well. Needless to say, I did not sleep, but it wasn't until the morning that I realized that it was snowing. Even more than before I wanted Kira home so that she could see it.

"Finally at 9:30am the vet called and said that I could come get her. I was out the door by 9:33.

"It was still snowing so I had to force myself to drive slowly, but then I ran into the hospital office. To their credit, they did not make me wait, but took me right into an exam room and went over Kira's discharge instructions. To my wry amusement I noticed a "WILL BITE" sticker on Kira's chart.

"A few minutes later, a less groggy but more indignant Kira walked into the exam room. She again wagged her tail and came immediately to me and even gave kisses but as she did she cast pissed off looks at the vet and nurse and hid behind me.

"I had already taken care of the balance of her bill so I gathered Kira in my arms, picked up her bag of medications and walked out the door.

"Kira tucked her head under my chin but as soon as we stepped outside she lifted her head and sniffed at the falling snow. Her tail gave a few wags when the flakes landed on her nose and then she tucked her head again and we finally went home."

Caesar stared at me.

"And that was just the beginning of her recovery," I added.

Finally he reclined his head. "I proclaim you again victor in the battle of who has more cause to be wary of March." He stood up. "We shall revisit this argument upon a day."

"And I hope that you shall be the victor, Caesar. These are laurels that I could really do without."

***********

CUT TO THE CHASE

My ex received money and filed it under my social security number and didn't pay the taxes.

My dog had fourteen teeth removed and nearly died from an overdose of anesthesia and pain medication during the surgery.

I was so sleep deprived that I fell down the stairs and mashed my scapula. (Luckily I didn't break anything but my back looks like I was beat.)

FML

The good news of course is that, after a hellish week of groaning in her sleep and an upset stomach, Kira is finally recovering. I cannot say thank you enough to all of the people that we had saying prayers, sending positive thoughts and healing vibes to her. As I was sitting in the vet's office, not knowing if Kira was going to make it, I can't tell you what a comfort it was when my phone buzzed with another tweet or message saying that someone was pulling for Kira.

I'm a blessed bitch.

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