Dogs and Daffodils

Well, we just hit the two week mark and do you know who is actually excited by the skin cancer and horrifying forehead flap?

The ridiculous dogs.

Well, to be fair, I don't know if they're excited about the skin cancer itself but they have found the recuperation process downright blissful.

See, while the "flap" is still attached like a horrible bridge across my face, there's a danger of infection and rejection. So, I'm not supposed to do anything. Not really walk around, go up and down the steps as seldom as possible, not even walk out into the kitchen and get myself something to drink because I'm not supposed to lift anything heavier than a jug of milk.

Which means I spend A LOT of time either lying on the couch or lying in bed.

This might sound like a great gig but the first week I felt too sore and tired to really enjoy it and this week, now that I'm feeling worlds better, I'm bored out of my mind.

You know who ISN'T bored and thinks spending the day snuggled on the couch is a mini-version of heaven?

The ridiculous dogs.

In fact, I often wake up to this:

This might seem cute and loving but has caused a situation in which my belly has become the disputed holy grail of canine cuddling. See, Bubba thinks that he, too, is a lap dog. So I also often wake up to this:

at which time Bubba suggests that Sassy needs to take her turn at the end of the couch so he can be the one to perch lovingly on my stomach. I have tried to explain to him that this will result in my slow death by suffocation but he's really committed to his idea of fairness.

The other person who is NOT thrilled with the recuperation process is Opie. Not that he minds helping me--he's been great about that! It was easier when my mom was here but after she left, he worked out a whole system so that before he has to leave for work, I have everything I want/need for the day beside me and anything I might want to eat for lunch or snack on is just a few steps away. He's awesome.

But since I can't do anything around the house, he has to do EVERYTHING while I lie on the couch and call out helpful suggestions on the cooking, cleaning, animal care and, of course, the cutting of daffodils for a festive bouquet.

I'm not going to lie, that last one wasn't on his list of important tasks but I, in my sweet and docile way, explained how it was supposed to freeze and the daffodils were going to be ruined before I could even go outside and enjoy them and would it really kill him to go to the front yard, for the love of heaven, and snip a few stupid daffodils?

He was a pretty good sport about it but considering this was one of the flowers that made it into the vase:

I suspect his heart wasn't really in it.

Luckily, though, we only have to survive one more week. I went to the doctor yesterday and the horrible flap is healing nicely, looks like it's going to be a "100% take", and we're on schedule to have the separation surgery one week from today. After that, I  still won't be able to lift anything heavy for awhile and I'll need to rest for a couple of days but it won't be like this week in which I have to wait for Opie if I so much as drop a Q-Tip on the floor.

And, though he hasn't actually complained at all, I think Opie will be glad to give up his nursing duties...but I don't think he should give up his other day job because he definitely does NOT have a future in flower arrangement:

Thanks again for everyone's thoughts, prayers, and positive energy!

If you want to read more about my skin cancer journey, you can find that info below:

Sunscreen, Skin Cancer and Spiritual Support

Happy Birthday to Me

National Doctors Day

And if you want more information on skin cancer in general, check out these articles at the CDC:

https://www.cdc.gov/cancer/skin/basic_info/index.htm

R Is For Rampallion

Rampallion: Noun, a scoundrel, a villain.

I have to be honest, when I lived in St. Louis, I worried a lot more abut rampallions than I do now. I was single, I lived alone and my chihuahua, the late great Peek-A-Boo, wasn't what you would call vigilant about protecting hearth and home (you can find kind of a funny story about that here).

When Opie and I married and moved here to a small town in Oklahoma, I worried even less. Because it's smaller, there's less crime, and Opie had a big dog.

This is our half-Rottweiler, half beagle, Bubba:

The only problem with Bubba is that he has decided that I am HIS human and that he should protect me at all costs. I appreciate this when the neighborhood crazy tries to get into the yard (long story, you can read about it here). The thing is, he's pretty sure any stranger in the neighborhood is a rampallion.

A lesson both the lawn guy and I learned the first month I lived here. See, the lawn care people are supposed to knock on the door and let me know they’re here before starting on the lawn. But sometimes they forget…and they don’t come on a regular schedule so I don’t know when they’re going to be out there. So, right after I moved here, the stars aligned and the lawn guy was trying to let himself in the backyard at the same moment that I'm letting the dogs out of the house.

Bubba did NOT not take this well.

Peek also did not take this well…but Peek was old, a little fat, and more than willing to wait and see if the guy had a treat before ripping his throat out. Bubba, on the other hand, charged the fence like the guy was made out of ham.

I, of course, went running out and over to the fence as fast as I could…and was relieved to see that the guy hadn’t actually come in the gate yet…but then I had to get Bubba calmed down in the face of this clear and present danger.

A task made more difficult by the fact that the lawn guy was standing right on the other side of the fence, chattering away nervously, apologizing and assuring me he won’t come in until I get Bubba back in the house. The problem was, Bubba couldn’t believe that this EVIL RAMPALLION was actually DARING to talk to me while he was on guard duty. So the more the guy talked, the more Bubba ran around me in wide circles, barking and growling at the guy like a maniac, and occasionally charging the fence.

If this happens with your Chihuahua, you pick him up, carry him inside, and praise his bravery. If this happens with your half-Rottweiler mix, you interrupt the lawn guy’s sixteenth apology and ask him to go stand by his car.

“Or better yet,” you say with a smile “actually get in it.”

“Are you serious?” The lawn guy then asks.

“This dog knows you’re here to kill me,” you explain. “And he’s not going to let you.”

On the one hand, I’m pretty sure THAT GUY will never forget to let me know he’s here before spraying the lawn…on the other hand, I’m also pretty sure he doesn’t think I’m funny AT ALL.

Another Mystery.

Today makes the second time in a week that I've come home to find this dog:

trapped either in the bathroom or spare room. Based on his desperate run for freedom both times, it's easy to discern he'd been trapped for quite awhile.  The only other person home on both days was this little cat--who is roughly 1/5 of the dog's size:

 

 

Princeton P. Kitty swears up and down that he is innocent of all charges and he is trying to point the paw back at Bubba.  The problem is, Prince is pretty smart and Bubba is...well, let's just say he's aptly named. But is this the face of a creature who would trick his fellow animal into a small space and leave him there for hours?  Surely there's another explanation....right??!