The other night, Mike and I tried to get Andy to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with us. I had forgotten how snarky 12-year-olds can be. The lovely family moment pretty much ended when I threatened to stuff Andy into a pair of footed pajamas and make him watch the movie over and over again until his attitude improved. Think it was something I said?
Scout, our 15 year old border collie, is going downhill fast. I took her to the vet today. Her heart is failing, something is making her neck swell and her breathing is so rough. But, she’s not in pain and I’m a wimp. We’re going to try some antibiotics for a few days. No one, not me, not the vet, I don’t even think Scout, thinks they will work, but it’s a last ditch effort. She’s not in pain but I don’t think she’s particularly happy either. I’m going to miss her more than I care to think about. She’s been my “only girl” in the house for so, so long. If Nana from Peter Pan were a real dog, she would be Scout. Scout always knew when to tattle on the older boys when they were little. She really would come and get me and drag me outside. And she was always right. She sat near the bathroom door for the months and months I spent throwing up when I was pregnant with Andy. She’s been my shadow for all of these years. She’s seen me from young-ish to old-ish middle age. I hate the thought of her suffering, and I hate the thought of losing her, but it’s going to happen. Soon.
Needless to say, my mood has been iffy lately. Mike actually offered me $20 to go give to the neighbors so that I could borrow their 7-year-old to do something Christmas-y. I might have to take him up on this over the weekend. I miss having little kids. If you have some, send them my way for a few hours. I even like glitter and messes.
Tonight, after the vet, I’ve been trying to keep Scout quiet. She follows me everywhere and I’ve stopped trying to stop her. Tonight, I figured, I would stick to the kitchen area. (Our kitchen isn’t big, but it’s open to a big dining area so we weren’t too confined.) I decided it was a good idea to color my hair in the kitchen. One, upon rechecking, I see now that I picked up the wrong color. Two, really, unless someone else is doing it for you, don’t color your hair in your kitchen. It’s done and too late now. Andy mentioned that it was “bright” before he went to bed. (My only comfort is that Andy will never keep a girlfriend with his insanely low level of tact – someone to take care of us when we’re old.)
Ugh . . . send hats. I look like the skeevy guy pictured on the right from the Food Network. Mike and the boys watch his show. I always think he looks like he needs a shower. Well, now that’s me. :::sigh::: Upside? Scout’s been relatively quiet all evening.