Everything at once

I don’t normally post on weekends, but yesterday was EXCEPTIONAL.

1. K broke her finger last night, right before the circus show. Her hand is in a splint. She misses the next show, her band concert, and this will affect her first few weeks of the next circus term.

2. The baby gerbils have a respiratory infection. J took them to veterinary urgent care at midnight last night. They may die.

3. Our clothes dryer is not working properly, and may need to be replaced.

4. I found a dead tick on the living room floor.

5. The puppies ate gross things in the yard, the way puppies do, and vomited in the shoes this morning.

Good morning, internets.

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A personal note

I’ll get to writing up my Wiscon panel reports soon enough. For now, let me merely mention that I enjoyed the convention and that my head is still there, though my body is at work. Also, a hello to all of you I met this weekend! Welcome to the blog.

Two personal notes, though.

First, one of our family dogs died late Sunday night. Toby was fifteen years old, a scampering scrap of a wee dog until the very end. He’d been having seizures in the last week, and we’re not certain precisely what killed him. The loss of him to our house is compounded somewhat by the fact that we were away when it happened, but Toby had an excellent life, loved and well-cared for until the end.

Second, congratulations to my sister and her husband on the birth of their second child! I have a nephew now to compliment the host of nieces. My mom sent me a photo of the kid, and I assure you that he is as red, wrinkled, squashed, and damp-looking as all newborns are supposed to be. Gorgeous in the way of all new life, however objectively goofy-looking that may be. I wish them all well.

The morning of the Eve

We open our presents on Christmas Eve. But, to the incredibly dismay of my son, we do not open them right the hell away on Christmas Eve. The prospect that he has to wait even longer for, as far as he can tell, no reason other than arbitrary caprice on my part, is excruciating for him. Yet, him sobbing quietly in my arms at 6:30 am was not the bad part of my morning.

No, the comically bad part of my morning was when I let the dogs out at 6:00. You see, our oldest and smallest dog is Toby. Toby is completely deaf, is mostly blind, has arthritis, and weighs about eight pounds. His legs are about two inches long. Or, at least, it seems that way.

The dogs go out into the yard via the back door, and four steps down. Under the absolute best conditions, Toby sometimes can’t get back up the steps and into the house. The solution is for an adult to step out into the yard and scoop him up, carrying him into the house. We received six inches of snow overnight. Conditions for Toby to get into the house were not the best.

I saw the struggling little scrap of a dog at the bottom of the steps and sighed. I found a pair of boots and stepped out into the yard. It is six a.m., I will have you recall. I’m wearing a nightgown and a pair of boots. As I maneuvered to get the little dog, I slipped in the six inches of snow and promptly sat on the back steps. My nightgown, seeing that I was falling backwards, solicitously hitched itself up as I sat, so as to avoid getting wet.

There is nothing quite like sitting bare-ass-naked in six inches of snow to liven up a person’s morning.

I stood, brushed snow off my butt (noting that it is fine packing snow, and that the kids should go play in it later today,) grabbed a scampering terrier who was now so coated in snow as to be unrecognizable, and trudged up the steps. I am fairly certain that the rest of the day is going to be a snap after this.

If I don’t get back online in the next couple of days (hah, fat chance of that, but I’m trying to be polite here) Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate!

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