Welcome to the "All Blue All The Time" blog. Same look. Same host. New, easy to digest "single topic" format. (To wit: visit the nifty people to your right if you crave something other than progress reports, my ongoing attempts to cope, and recent heightened resentment of all human beings. Cuz that's all's gonna happen round here for awhile.)
So, a little more weak today. But a nice, healthy piddle once we got her outside--which is 95% of the battle. As anyone who is disabled or who has suffered from a temporary disability (a broken leg, perhaps) knows well; two flights of stairs has a way of becoming the most daunting, frightening, life-altering thing in the world. By the time we finally get all ninety pounds of her limp body down the stairs, she's spent. So are we. I've also become more than a little afraid that the process of getting her downstairs could be causing physical harm, or undoing whatever healing that may have occurred while she was at rest.
It's been made clear our apartment is not be the most ideal place for a stroke victim to convalesce, and I've been wracking my brain for a solution. Paying our first floor neighbors to "switch" for a few weeks? A one month sublet upstate? I don't know. All I can say is Monk--with his sweet, no steps access to his fenced in backyard--should be glad for his two ferocious attack barn cats, because I'd already have Blue's fuzzy buns moved in by now.
Mom offered to have me stay and help care for her, but it's out of the question because of her 120lb German Shepherd that Blue (acting as 'mother') trained in self-defense when he was a pup; and who relishes the chance to show her up now that he's twice her size. Even though it's only play, that kind of roughhousing could kill her. Anyway he's not fixed, continuously horny, and constantly sporting his freaky pointy extend-o-penis. It turns me off my food and makes Blue nervous. Understandably.
My dad and step mom? (Just typing that made me laugh out loud.) Ah...nope. I'll put it politely and say they're not the most, um, "social" people in the world. Loving? Yes. Kind? Yes. Caring? Totally. Supportive? Absolutely. Perfect parents in every way, if you overlook the part where they'd choose chewing glass while suspended in a vat of poisonous snakes over letting another human being pass their threshold. In the twenty years they've been married I--their only child--have set foot in their house exactly three times. Three. Only once was I invited past the kitchen door. This made the rest of the family wildly jealous because to the best of our knowledge, I am the only living human being to have done so. I'm still working my way up to a glimpse of the sun-room I hear so much about, so an extended stay is...seriously, I can't stop laughing.
Well, back to bed for me. I think I got a whopping three hours last night, and I've got to build up the strength for tonight's walk.
Posted by Antigeist at February 2, 2005 10:18 AMInterestingly, our friend Liz was over the other day with her dog Floyd, and Doc and Natasha didn't even seem to notice. Of course Floyd is a weird little miniature Greyhound (he's not a whippet! He gets real upset when you call him that), and he spent most of time under Liz's sweater (I know! Lucky dog!), but he came out for a bit and the kitties seemed completely unfazed. Some ferocius barn cats they turned out be...
Posted by: monk at February 2, 2005 03:00 PMOH Floyd! I love Floyd (Lucy too). Lucky fellow indeed.
I think the dog/cat thing has everything to do with the personalities of the participants. Blue LOVES cats, which has been a problem for her traditionally. When she sees a kitty she makes a b-line (so she may pin them and lick their whole body clean). However this is usually perceived as an attack manuver, and often pretty ill-received (unless the cat has had it's own dog, and doesn't associate a charging 90 pound creature with sudden death).
Like Elvis (M & H's cat). Elvis and Blue get along fine. Blue charges, Elvis is like 'whatever'--and then they go have a drink or something.