Trash Day

I guess I am truly addicted to blogging now. Because I can't sleep and I had to rush right down here to the computer and tell you all about it.

For one thing, I had to take some cough medicine. Sure enough, I have some sort of chest thing developing, which should surprise no one since my husband is leaving town and this weekend, my parents AND my mother-in-law are coming. It would be deeply remiss of me not to send them on their way without first giving them some horrible infectious disease. This happens with such frequency that my parents have taken to calling and asking about our health before they will commit to actually coming. They adore my children but they seem to have tired of these little two-day visits that end up with them fighting death for three weeks. (Selfish of them. Really.)

This coughing/upper respiratory thing is particularly galling considering that ever since this summer when I got walking pneumonia, I've been buying and drinking these Danactive things, which are pretty darn expensive and require, you know, discipline and a short-term memory and all to remember to take. I have been doing this because a doctor at the emergency clinic where I went when I was sure I had contracted leukemia and tuberculosis and probably scarlet fever (or whatever it was that made Beth waste away to nothing in Little Women) told me that he drank one of those Danactive things every day and hadn't had an upper respiratory thing in four years.

Yeah, right.

In other news, Scout had to go in for surgery this past week because he had a growth on his side that needed to be removed. We like to schedule all dog surgeries that cost more than $600 right before Christmas because we're made of money like that.) He's now in a bonnet, and must wear one for ten days.

I don't know if I've mentioned this to you all, but he is not really the SMARTEST dog ever. Let's face it, the only smart thing that dog has ever done is to trick my husband into noticing him and bringing him home. So, now he's in this bonnet and he keeps banging into things. In fact, he's such a freak-show in that thing that he will go into one room in this house and then be afraid he won't be able to get through the door back out so he will sit there and cry until we go and guide him out.

Yesterday, I was making the appointment for him to have his stitches out and talking to the vet about all of this and I mentioned that the SMALLER growth he had taken off (which my husband only noticed in the waiting room as he was waiting to have Scout admitted) is accessible to Scout's hind leg, which means he can scratch it and make the incision bleed. The vet was concerned and suggested I put a child's t-shirt on Scout.

I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing, picturing the poor dog in a bonnet and a nice floral spring print. Maybe we should put him in a I [heart] New York t-shirt, take a picture and use it as our moving announcement.

And in still more news: it has begun. Although our Christmas tree has only up for two days, we have already engaged, it and I, in the open warfare in which we engage EVERY year over whether or not we will have a tree with blinking lights (my desire) or one without (inevitably, the tree's desire.) What is it about those red-tipped bulbs that makes them stop blinking the lights after a while? Already, half of the tree blinks and half does not.

This makes me crazy.

Crazy, I tell you.

Every year.

I should keep some kind of meter on the blog so that people following this epic battle will know what percentage of lights are blinking and what percentage are not. Right now, I'd say it's 50-50. In the morning (read: when it's light outside) I'll go through and replace the red-tipped bulbs and see how much of the tree I can return to blinking status.

Stay tuned. (Right now, my sniffling, sneezing, coughing, runny nose, aching, so I can sleep medicine just kicked in and although I am still coughing, I must grab an orange tabby and go back to bed.)


Bullwinkle said…
Some day, I'm going to find one of these things, fix it and take a picture.

Can you turn the E-collar around?

Take it off Scout, flip it in your hands so that the wide end is towards Scout's rear end and think about slipping it over his head. Would it prevent him from reaching his stitches?

If yes, cut holes (I left wide slits actually) for his "arms", slip it over his head and add a belly tie. It becomes an armor vest. And he won't bump into door ways.

This tip is brought to you by my sister -- who's Irish Wolfhound had an E-collar so wide, it couldn't fit through the doorway. But I've used it on my Samoyed - who thought it was a much better idea than the first way. The cat, otoh, was pissed that he could no longer reach the stitches; and told me so.
Ei said…
Ah, it may not have been his smartness, but Scout also foiled a bad guy, remember??? Why am I such a Scout fan, I wonder. I guess I truly do always root for the under dog.

I want flashing lights too. Not happening. And um.
hokgardner said…
I love flashing lights but gave up because of the very thing you describe.

And our dog had to wear a t-shirt for a few days. I'll see if I can dig up a picture of her in it. She looks embarassed.

Feel better.
Mokihana said…
No blinking lights in this house. Not inside or outside. I like quiet lights who don't look at me and say, "Look at ME!"
Ei said…
I hate when I can't finish my thoughts and forget to remove the evidence that I was having thoughts at all, and THEN can't remember what the thought was when I come back to it.

Any way. Merry Christmas, I suppose. Bah.
MadMad said…
Aw, poor Scout-y. But I love the moving announcement idea... Plus you have all that experience now, photographing cats. How hard could a dog be?!
I think the special collar needs flashing lights, don't you?

And can I have some of that medicine? I'm sick with the same thing here. Heaven forbid I should get to a doctor.
DK said…
Ohhhhhhh, Scout!!! In a cone! Poor baby! Poor, adorable baby.

And a T shirt! Ohhh, Maggie hates that when I make her wear clothes...
Anonymous said…
Oh, this made me laugh! Lucy had to wear the lampshade a few years ago when she had surgery to remove her anal glands after she developed a lovely scooting problem. She couldn't figure out how to get through doorways and refused to back up. Plus, my neighbor found it humorous to call and ask if I knew Lucy'd been partying and got a lampshade stuck on her head. I did not.
That you find such joy in the thought of emasculating such clearly noble and refined creature is beyond me! Floral print shirt, indeed. I've got to speak for him! Don't do it Barb!