Waiting

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Riley’s been limping lately.  He’s limped before, usually when he lands badly after guiltily jumping off the bed or the couch, and with a couple of days of rest, everything’s fine.  We took him to the vet the first time – nothing to be done for him except keep him quiet.  This time, he limped for three weeks straight.  Our gentle prodding never resulted in any pain (that we could see), so it didn’t seem urgent.  John took him to the vet Friday evening (we decided that three weeks was excessive and were feeling guilty for not getting him there sooner).  We expected to hear that his ankle was sprained.  Worst case, maybe a small fracture.  That would have been great news.

Our vet, who we really like, took four x-rays, all showing the same thing.  She doesn’t want to say for sure until she gets a second opinion from the specialist, but it looks like bone cancer (osteosarcoma).  She did a chest x-ray, and his chest looks clear, so she doesn’t think it has spread.  John asked what this means for treatment, and the vet wasn’t willing to get into it until we have a definite diagnosis.  He turned to Google, of course, and found that we might (probably will?) have to amputate his leg (it’s his front left leg) and then follow that with chemotherapy.  We have absolutely no idea what this means for him long-term, or even what long-term means now.  He’s only 10 and a half.

It’s been a rough weekend.  We’d hoped that the vet could get in touch with the specialist yesterday, but apparently she couldn’t.  We’ll hear something tomorrow, but I’m sure there will be more appointments, more discussions.

It hasn’t even been four months – we got rid of Roxy’s old toys and medicines today.  We’re keeping her bowl and her pillow and her leash and collar.  It’s too soon to go through this again.

Life sucks sometimes.

Everlasting love

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John and I saw Huey Lewis and the News for the sixth time last night.  It was, as usual, a really good show.  I’m willing to bet poor old Huey can’t talk at all today, though.  Last night, his voice was really going.  He still sounded great, but there were things he just couldn’t do.  (It didn’t sound permanent, thank goodness.  More of a sore throat thing.  Let’s hope that’s not wishful thinking.  Heh – wishful thinking about wishful thinking.  Stop before the world collapses in on itself!)  Poor guy.  I hope he drank a lot of water.  It’s the 30th anniversary of Sports, so they started the concert by playing the whole album, which was totally awesome.  (John noticed it when they started the third song – clever guy.)  This year (unlike two years ago), they did the whole not-relevant-anymore thing right and only played one new song all night.  Man, I love them.  It seems like everyone else in the area does, too, since I’ve never seen such a parking nightmare at Wolf Trap before.  The place was packed, the parking lots were completely full (the police were telling people to park on the grass on the side of the road), and John and I had to park at the Barns and walk over (under a mile, I think, but not by much).  And on our walk over, the skies opened.  We had umbrellas, but when it rains buckets (sideways buckets), you get soaked no matter what.  It poured like that for a solid 20-25 minutes before the intensity backed off, but even then it didn’t stop until around 8:45, just as the real show started.  I don’t know who opened for them (couldn’t hear them over the rain, certainly couldn’t see them), and I didn’t really care that we were missing whoever it was.

Okay, I’m rambling now.  I’ve lost my point, if I ever had one.  Maybe it’s just that I’ll stand in the pouring rain for Huey Lewis and the News because I LOVE THEM.  I could point out that we spent much of the storm under shelter (after getting soaked on the walk in), but what does that matter?  I would have stood around in the pouring rain for them if it hadn’t stopped in time.  I would.

Promises

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Dear August,

May we please start over?  I don’t know how we got 11 days in already.  I don’t know where the previous 10 days have gone.  Did you steal them from me?  That’s rude – of course you didn’t.  Do you know where they went?  Maybe I just misplaced them and you saw where I put them.  Would you help me get them back?  Even though I’m not in school, and the beginning of September doesn’t really mean an end to freedom like it used to, I still feel like summer is rushing to a close.  I didn’t get a chance to enjoy it.  I don’t mean to say I haven’t enjoyed many days over the last two months, but it hasn’t felt like summer.  I can have the kinds of days I’ve enjoyed any time of year (almost).  I would like to take the opportunity to notice and behave as if it’s summer now, if you don’t mind.  Of course, it’s Sunday evening, so I won’t get very far before I have to go to bed and start the work week tomorrow, but I promise to do my best for the rest of the month.  I need to get outside more, appreciate the warmth and sun more.  I can do that.  It would be helpful if you could keep the rain to a minimum, or at least keep it to the overnight hours, but I understand if that’s too difficult.  Regardless, I will try to remember that even though I don’t get a real summer vacation, I can still celebrate summer for a couple of hours every day (and maybe at lunchtime) and every weekend.  I promise.

Sincerely,
Zannah

P.S. I really do apologize for accusing you of stealing days from me.  It just slipped out.  I know you’d never do that.  Forgive me?

Don’t make me talk to her anymore

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We have a habit of picking up dinner from Ledo’s Pizza most Wednesday nights.  It’s right around the corner from the gym (same shopping center), and I always go to my zumba class from 6 to 7, so John calls ahead and I pick up dinner on my way home.  Simple for everyone.  Sure, pizza isn’t the greatest thing to eat when I’m trying to be all healthy and stuff, but I get a little one, I swear.  🙂

Lately, though, I’ve been dreading going in there.  There’s this girl, in her early 20s I think, who’s ALWAYS working Wednesday nights, and she is ANNOYING.  She wants to chat, and I’m sweaty and tired and hungry and I just want to pay for my food and take it home.  Stop talking to me!  But of course I’m pleasant and I chat back and I think “Oh god, just take my credit card already.  Why are you taking so long?  Please let me go home.”  And then I practically run out the door.  Nicely.

Bloodsuckers

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Last week was a bad week for me – I lost a lot of blood.  I managed to get through two thirds of the summer bite-free, and then I had to go and spoil it by forgetting the bug spray at an outdoor evening work function.  I went straight from work, so I was wearing jeans and a shirt with sleeves to my elbows, but that wasn’t enough protection. Oh no – I ended up with FIVE mosquito bites.  Where?  On my feet!  And one on my pinky finger.  I hate mosquitoes.  As if mosquito bites weren’t bad enough, I had to have blood drawn the very next day.  Not for one test, no.  I was having a whole bunch of tests redone, so I went to the place (The lab? It’s not really a lab.  They send the blood off to a lab.  And it’s not a doctor’s office.  Whatever.  The place.), and the guy (the phlebotomist – that’s a great job title) looked at the order with the LONG list of tests (they were testing for 13 things, I think) and pulled seven tubes out of the rack.  SEVEN tubes.  That’s SEVEN VIALS of my blood he had to get out of my arm.  And I was fasting!  AND I had to go to work when he was done.  Inhuman, that’s what this was.  Inhumane, maybe.  Because I’m human.  Not an alien, not a robot.  Hm.  Maybe that’s what they were testing for.  Maybe I’m NOT human.  Mom, Dad, is that ice storm birth story just a cover for how you REALLY got me?  I’ll have to check those results carefully.

A picture wouldn’t have done it justice

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I saw an oddly shaped cloud on my way home from work today.  It looked kind of like a wolf or a coyote with its head thrown back, like it was howling at the moon, except it looked nothing like a wolf or a coyote and an awful lot like an alpaca.  An alpaca howling at the moon.  Made up of clouds.  Too bad I was driving.  A picture would have been awesome, even though it probably wouldn’t have looked anything like an alpaca howling at the moon.

*Howling Alpacas is the name of my next band.

Might have a bruise in the morning

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I practiced a little bit this past week after not really keeping up in last week’s dance class, and you know what?  Practicing helps.  Who knew?  My second dance class (EVER) was much better.  Except for when I fell on my ass.  We were learning I was learning to pirouette, and apparently I lean back when I should lean forward, and then I lost my balance (worse than the other times) and fell on my butt.  It was cartoonish.  Luckily, it only happened that one time, and it seems I’m a lefty when it comes to turns since I almost look good turning left.  Almost.  It’s fun and I like it.  Yay for dance!

I’ve run out of clothes to buy

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I have tried on every dress within 15 miles of my house over the last week looking for the one I’m going to wear to the wedding this weekend.  ALL by myself.  I’d walk into a store, grab armloads of dresses in my size, take over a dressing room, and try on every one.  I took pictures of the good ones and sent them to my posse (Pat, Emily, and Molly for immediate feedback via text, Mom and Mindy for more leisurely feedback over email), all of whom talked me into buying entirely too many dresses, most of which I will be returning (I’ve returned one.  Two more are in the car, waiting for me to get back to the mall.).  Sunday was about shoes.  I bought THESE most awesome shoes in hot pink:

I should take a break from shopping.

My first dance class EVER (almost)

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I just got home from my teen/adult jazz (beginner) class.  Beginner my ass.  Out of four women, I was the only one who’d never danced before.  (I don’t count one month of tap in high school for a musical or ballet as a six-year-old that I promptly quit.)  Two of them were teenagers who used to dance when they were little, which actually meant until they were about 13.  They’re 16-17 now.  The fourth woman used to dance.  So…yeah.  This is going to sound…I don’t care how it sounds.  It’s true.  I can’t remember the last time I was the worst at something in a group of people.  It’s a little bit stressful, even when the class is fun.  But it’ll get better (I’ll get better), and I did enjoy it, and now I’m REALLY annoyed that I’m going to miss the first tap class on Thursday.  I’ll be SO behind next week.  At least I didn’t have to worry about what I was wearing.  Only one of the teenagers was wearing little dance shorts.  The older woman was wearing long loose yoga pants and a blouse-y top, and I wore my capri yoga pants and a tank top.  Perfectly acceptable.

Oh, crap.  Gotta run.  There’s laundry to do before I can pack for this wedding.

He’s taking advantage of us

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I am now the proud owner of a pair of jazz shoes and a pair of tap shoes because I have signed up for a contemporary jazz class and a tap class (both for beginners because, well, I’m a beginner).  I’m very excited.  The first class is a week from tomorrow.

While I was out shopping for these shoes, John spent the afternoon upstairs with Riley, who still isn’t allowed on the furniture.  The last time we allowed him to sleep on a piece of furniture on a regular basis (a wicker loveseat we kept on the sun porch in our last house almost TEN years ago), he ate it.  Chewed it all to bits ATE it.  So now, Riley isn’t allowed on the furniture, and he knows it.  We know he knows because he never tries to get on the couch or the bed when we’re at home (only when we’re away and he thinks he can get away with it).  Usually.  He’s getting bolder.  Today, with John just across the hall in the office, Riley got on the bed twice.  I guess his dog bed with an old cushy comforter on it isn’t soft enough anymore.  I’ll know he’s made the next logical leap when he tries to get on the bed while we’re still in it.

I might need a haircut

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My right eye was bothering me this morning, so I decided to take a break from my contacts and wear my glasses to work today.  I wore one of my favorite sweaters (if only I had it in a forest or olive green or a deep red – this blue is beautiful, but it’s not really my color) and the little clock Mindy got me from JewelMint.  My outfit had nothing to do with my decision to wear glasses, but apparently the combination of glasses and little clock clicked for me.  A coworker told me I looked studiously cute.  I will totally take that.  So here I am, looking studiously cute:

And very pale and very tired.  But I am NOT wearing a 3/4-sleeve sweater.  This is according to John, who doesn’t believe in them.  Therefore, that is not what I’m wearing.  Because they don’t exist.

There’s a trick to everything

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Riley hasn’t been eating well.  He was eating intermittently before we went on vacation, and we didn’t really ask a lot of questions at the kennel.  They said he did well while we were gone,  but I didn’t think to ask how often he ate.  He didn’t eat when we came home.  We took him for a run this morning, and we noticed we could feel his ribs.  Prominently.  So I asked John to get something delicious for him when he stopped at the store on his way home from today.  He came home with a jar of beef gravy.  I filled Riley’s bowl with the usual dry food, doused it with gravy, and wouldn’t you know?  He scarfed it down.  I’m not sure it even took him a full minute.  I will do whatever it takes to get Riley back to fighting weight.

(No dogs were starved in the making of this post.  He didn’t seem to be suffering or starving (or he would have eaten the dry food in his bowl these last couple of days), and he’s never been one to beg for food (unless it’s steak or something).  Not eating regularly isn’t all that unusual, but able to count his ribs is.)

It rains in France – just thought you should know

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We’re back home from a wonderful week in France.  We had two days of beautiful weather, then lots of rainy days in a row (COLD rainy days), and then the day we flew out (which I think is still yesterday) was lovely.  Tease.  Pictures soon.  We slept about 10 hours last night.  Went to bed around 7:30, lights out at 8.  It wasn’t even dark outside yet, but to us, 8pm felt like 2am.  Now I’m good.  Riley is happy to be home, and so are we.  (He was a little confused about why we were all going to bed before the sun, but he went with it.)

Me and Chas at the wedding

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I just wrote a post about these pictures and the wedding my friend and I were at and how we danced our asses off, but for some reason it is now lost.  I am going to assume it’s because this is my tablet’s trial run. And my tablet keyboard’s trial run.  So somehow, when I clicked Save Draft, it did not do that.  Like, at all.  So, no story.  Just pictures.  Oh, this is the dress I linked to a few weeks ago.  Love it.

And this is my friend Chastity.

It doesn’t take much

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We had some excitement at work the other day.  I looked out the window (onto the always lovely back of the parking lot) and saw some of my coworkers hanging out by and IN the dumpster.  I couldn’t imagine why they’d be doing that – yeah, that’s not true. I can imagine all kinds of reasons why they might be messing around in dumpsters, but none of them are realistic (or good).  It certainly didn’t occur to me that they might be trying to rescue kittens.  Kittens!  (I’ll stop you now.  No, we are not the proud new owners of a kitten.)  The news raced through the office, and the crowd outside the dumpster doubled.  I took pictures.
Poor, adorable, terrified kittens.  They weren’t starving or anything – the theory is that someone dropped them in the dumpster the night before.  What kind of person would do that?  One of my coworkers heard some squeaky meows as he came in, or we might never have known they were there.
They all had new homes within an hour of being pulled out of the dumpster.

Two weeks later

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Thank you, everyone, for your comments, notes, flowers, thoughts, texts, and phone calls.  It was really sweet of you, and we appreciate it.  We’re doing better.  Fewer tearful breakdowns (although we had one yesterday – the vet sent us some of her fur wrapped in a bow and her paw prints on cards, along with personal notes from most of the staff who knew her), more funny memories.  In the aftermath, we’ve found that we’re transferring all of our attentions and worries to Riley, with lots of running and walks, and constant concern over how he’s doing (“Does he look sad?”  “He always looks sad.”) and whether he’s eating enough.  He sleeps upstairs now, on his dog bed, and we (maybe a little more me than we) keep finding excuses to take him places with us.

We’ve put away her stuff, for the most part, but we still have it all.  Her dog bed stays downstairs for Riley during the day.  Her toys are still scattered all over the first floor.  Her leash and collar are still hanging in the hall closet.  Her food bowl is with her medicine in the cabinet.  We will eventually throw out the medicine and the plastic food bowl and the chewed up toys, and we’ll box up her leash and collar.  I don’t know when.  I’m not in any hurry.