Puppy pills

Lucy has a ridiculous amount of medicines for a dog. She has two meds that she needs to take every eight hours (though not together, that would be too easy--and also not with food) and one she takes every twelve hours. Trying to remember what she's got to take and when has almost become a full-time job.

Fortunately, she loves taking her medicine. I dip each pill in peanut butter and she thinks they're treats. But as Chad reminded me, it's no surprise that she likes them. That's how we got into this situation to begin with.

She's baaack...

Sixteen hours after coming home, Lucy has not managed to get herself into any trouble (perhaps because I am watching her like a hawk).

It's always fun to play the game of which dog goes with which person. Last night at the vet, a cranky bulldog was paired up with a young, spiky-haired guy while a sweet little floppy-eared dog went home with the most quiet, lackadaisical man I've ever seen. (The technician told this guy that the floppy-eared dog was their "favorite patient"--funny, they did not say the same about our energetic Lucy.)

In fact, our technician told us one of the signs to watch out for and call immediately about was depression or not wanting to do anything. She paused and then said, "especially with Lucy"...as if to say, if she is not bouncing off the walls, be concerned. It seems that Lucy made her presence known.

Lucy had a great time last night reacquainting herself with the house, running from one room to another. Even though they said she hadn't been drinking at the hospital and probably wouldn't be thirsty, she downed two huge bowls of water when we got home. Things are back to normal, whatever that is.

I'm lucky enough to be able to work from home today on a few big projects to make sure she's not reacting weird to any of her medicines, but so far, all is well!

Jib-Jab 2008

For all of you as tired of politics as I am, here's a more light-hearted approach from the folks who brought you Jib-Jab in 2004 featuring Kerry and Bush.

The 2008 version has been released! If you don't mind having the song stuck in your head for the entire afternoon, you'll probably enjoy it...no matter who you're voting for.

Damage control

Lucy got into a bottle of Ibuprofen while we were at Costco yesterday. Chad saw she had destroyed it but thought it was empty and it wasn't until she had gotten sick a few times and I asked what she'd eaten that we put two and two together.

After a few minutes of internet research, we knew enough to get worried and took her to the emergency animal clinic. It had been six hours at least since she'd eaten it, so she had already digested most of the medicine. That one-hour period when they were trying to figure out how much her kidneys had been ruined was one of the biggest low-points I've had in a long time. Chad and I talked about what we'd do if we had to put her to sleep. I was actually sitting there trying to remember the last time I felt so horrible. It's been years.

She's been in the animal hospital since last night and they're pumping her full of fluids to make sure the stuff gets out of her system and doesn't cause kidney failure. They've been taking good care of her, though they do say things when they call like "she's a boisterous Lab..." that make me wonder what on earth she's getting herself into. They say it's common for Labs to get into things like this because they're so darned curious--but it still didn't make me feel any better that she got into something that I accidentally left out.

That said, things are looking good. We went to see her today and she's back to her old self: jumping around, full of energy, and, according to the vet, "eating like a champ." If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was fine, and I really wanted to just bring her home and put all of this behind us.

But if all goes well, she'll be coming back tomorrow night. To compensate for my [perhaps exaggerated] guilt, I made it a priority today to get a bunch of stuff done so that when I pick her up tomorrow I can take her to the dog park. She'll probably be feeling fine, but it will make me feel better anyway.

In the doghouse

A couple months ago, our friend Nick was helping someone move who was trying to get rid of a doghouse. It was old and dirty but otherwise in good shape. So he brought it here and we put it in the backyard.

We got around to mending and painting it last weekend (or shall I say, Chad did). He painted it white and then, in a stroke of creativity, wandered down to the basement where we had the leftovers from when we painted our shutters and front door. Let's just say that Lucy's doghouse matches our house--though fortunately we don't have a tin roof.

When I walked outside to see the finished product, I laughed out loud at the "2702 B" that he had painted next to the door. If you ever want to send mail to Lucy, now you know the address.

Today, thank a teacher

I was traveling with our CEO a few weeks ago and we got to talking about summer plans. Since then, I keep thinking of a conversation we had. Being back-to-school time and all, it's appropriate to recount this tonight, before I forget it. I'm sure this isn't 100% accurate and I made some interpretations, but I've got the main parts right:

My boss's boss's boss (a smart, powerful woman) was telling me about her husband's aunt, who is turning 99 this month. She sounds like a spunky lady who has done a lot of good in the world. A woman who had polio has a child, she never married and taught elementary school in Minnesota her whole life before retiring about 30 years ago.

Some time after retirement, she went out with a friend. Two quasi-eldery ladies out for lunch and an afternoon of window shopping. But when leaving the mall, they noticed two large African-American men standing in a corner looking at them, whispering. She thought it was strange, but they moved ahead. The men followed at a short distance.

This started to make the two women a bit nervous, so they ducked into a small shop and spent some time in there before leaving. But the men were still there. Though it made her uncomfortable, she stood her ground.

[This is the point in the story where I started to get nervous.]

One of the men walked up to them. She paused (and probably braced herself).

"Miss Moroney?" he asked, hesitatingly.

"Well, Davey," she said, inspecting then recognizing him instantly though she taught him decades beforehand. He seemed pleased that she remembered who he was. "What are you doing with yourself these days?"

"Oh," he said, dismissingly, "I play baseball." He told her how much she had meant to him and that he hoped she was well. They parted ways.

Days later, she was telling this story about the man who had initially frightened her to her nephew. She was admitting that she had become a bit too skittish and that she should have given him the benefit of the doubt.

Her nephew asked if she knew any more about the man who had taken the time to come up and thank an old teacher.

She said she didn't know what he was up to, but that Dave Winfield had always been a nice boy. He was a good student, and she hoped he was doing well.

Little did she know that, at the time, Dave Winfield was also the highest-paid player in major league baseball. A baseball player who took the time to wait...and wait...outside a store for an old teacher just to tell her how much she had meant to him.

Talk about making a difference.

Sainara to summer

Labor Day has come and gone, so summer is officially over. (Well, not officially. It's actually going through September 21, but when you can't wear white skirts or shorts or pants anymore, it's no longer summer in my book.)

The good news is that fall is upon us which means cooler nights and changing leaves. The only bad news in all of this is casual August at my office has ended.