Some days you wake up certain you’re not going to get anything done. Or at least not anything you want to get done.
Ye Olde Insomnia returned last night. Oh, not the PM (Pre-Melissa) version I’ve had since childhood, the kind where you stare at the ceiling, counting the minutes you could still sleep if you’d just pass out right now. Then panicking at how little sleep that would be, then panicking at the panic because it’s just keeping you awake longer. Next thing, you’re looking at the sky brightening in the skylights, and pulling yesterday’s t-shirt off the floor and over your face.
Nope, nothing like that. Just an unplanned-for late night, followed by an early morning which came shockingly, well, early.
First problem: Sick puppy. Really, that’s not a cause for concern. Baby dogs get upset tummies all the time, especially Goldens — there’s nothing they won’t try to eat. But this morning, things were coming out of him I won’t describe, not after inflicting you with tales of walking pneumonia a while back.
(Quick timeout for one of the best puns ever. Years ago, my Grandfather Green and I were making fun of how “pneumonia” is spelled. He said, “The P is silent, as in ‘bath.'”)
Xander’s tail still wagged, but his little fuzzy butt didn’t swing along with it. He also wasn’t taking his food, so I gave the vet a ring. “My pup is lethargic and listless and has a very upset tummy.” “No worries,” the nice lady told me. “Puppies get sick, but bring him in tomorrow morning if he still isn’t well.” Fine, fine