One of my neighbor’s has taken to feeding the stray cats in the area. At first he put out a few dishes of food out near the trees where the cats can sometimes been see. He’d collect the empty dishes and set out new dishes full of food on a daily basis. This went on for a few months before he decided to do something different.
He moved the food dishes to his back door to make it easier for him to ensure there was always food and water available for the stray cats. He also started setting out little catnip toys for them to enjoy.
And naturally we started noticing more cats in the area. We also started noticing that some of the birds were disappearing as well as the squirrels. Logically it made sense, increase in cats means a decrease of small animals. It was a tough choice, let the cats starve or realize we might have fewer birds and such. I couldn’t say the cats were eating the birds, which another neighbor suggested, but naturally birds and cats will keep their distance.
The four-footed one didn’t attempt to make friends with the cats. Instead she kept her distance. But when the skunks and foxes started coming into the neighbourhood, well she couldn’t resist these new beings. Thankfully the foxes were too shy to play. As for the skunks, they clearly are used to dogs as they let the four-footed one come up and sniff them. She also tried to play with them. They weren’t interested in play, but thankfully they also didn’t spray.
The neighbor who thought he was helping the cats didn’t believe us about the foxes and skunks. That is until one say when he was setting out the food and a skunk walked right into his house. Of course the skunk didn’t stay, it walked back out of the door which wa still being held open due to shock.
We now have more birds and squirrels on the neighbourhood. And the skunks still visit now and then. As they as passing by.
Just a little bit, surely that won’t hurt. I’m sure you’ve heard this before. Perhaps you’ve told yourself this very thing when it comes to food for example. I know I’ve done it. More than once.
As I’ve gotten older I’ve come to realize that sometimes a little bit does hurt. Sometimes it isn’t worth it, be it a small piece of cake or a little extra tasty adult beverage in my glass. Because that little bit, over time, adds up. Especially when you have a few little bits added together and it amounts to a large bit than you thought you had.
We are human, stuff happens. Soemtimes you make mistakes, sometimes we can’t resist that little bit. It’s okay. We just need to dust ourselves off and get back with whatever it is we were setting as limits before.
Sometimes though, the little bit is not what we wanted or asked for. It just comes into our lives and we must make a choice. Do we deal with it as best we can or do we sit in despair that this little bit is too much for us to handle?
sometimes that little bit does hurt, for a period of time. When we look back though, once we’ve dealt with that little bit extra, we realize we got through it. We usually do, it’s just that sometimes we need a reminder of how strong and resilient we are.
I’m nota huge fan of public transportation. I’m not against it as per say, anc I use it now and then. I’m just not a fan of it. I’m not a fan because I cannot control what people do on public transportation. Such as spreading germs, bodily fluids and such.
Today I had to take public transpiration. The city bus. This is a nightmare of sorts for me. Mostly because the medication I must take lowers my immune system. So I shudder when I have to take the bus. And this morning I had to hop on the bus to get to an appointment, so I girded my loins (well okay I took a deep breath and made sure I had hand sanitizer) and headed off to the bus station.
While on the bus I witnessed a person eating a waffle he had pulled out of his pocket. It looked like a microwaved Ego Waffle. He also pulled out a small container of what appeared to be syrup out of his pocket. The container was at least sealed. The waffle wasn’t even wrapped in anything. So already I’m a bit grossed out by this, but when the person began to eat his waffle, he would dip it in the container, take a bite and then wave the rest of the waffle around.
Now stop and think about this for a minute. That waffle, no matter how carefully you bite, now has your saliva on it. And you are throwing that around in the air of the bus. It’s like spitting on people.
Gross enough now doubt, but also on my bus ride was a young mother who did a full on dirty diaper change on a bus seat. That’s umm exposing us to fecal matter. Fecal matter which in this case hit the floor. It could have just as easily hit the seat where some poor person may have sat in it. At any rate there is now fecal matter being spread through the bus. Fecal matter that someone has to clean up.
I don’t even want to think about what is on the seats, the hand holds or the buzzers to ask for a stop. So yes, I’m not a fan of public transportation. Or maybe I just need my own bubble!
We’ve started a new game in our household. I’m not sure who actually started this game, I only know it wasn’t me. Because this new game isn’t really my idea of fun. Frankly I can’t see it being Beloved’s idea of fun either, but he can be a bit weird with things, so maybe, just maybe it is his idea of fun.
What is this new game you ask? It’s called hide the antler somewhere it isn’t supposed to be and watch a human go crazy trying to find it. Yes I know, a rather long title, but when you bark it out, it’s like woof woof yip. See much shorter.
I’m not even sure how long this game has existed in my household. I discovered it my accident while moving some curtains. And there, on the windowsill, was a lightly chewed antler. It was trying to look innocent and sweet, as if it belonged on the windowsill. And when I went to put the antler with its friends, I stepped on something hard under one of the area rugs. And yep, you guessed it, another antler.
Beloved told me he spent part of yesterday doing the same thing. He said at one point he had to crawl on the floor to find one that was craftily hidden under a chair. He apparently gave up after three hours of the game. But the four-footed one, she never tires of this game. I think Beloved and I may be out antlered in this house. and I guess it’s my turn round-up the missing. Again.
There is a monkey hanging from an overhead light in my bedroom. I have no clue how it got there, and I’m really not sure I want to know how it got there or how I managed to sleep through the events that brought it to this point.
For the record, I don’t normally have monkeys, either living or stuffed dog toy varieties in my bedroom. I don’t typically have dog toys in the bedroom. But Beloved has no qualms about bringing in the four-footed one’s toys and tossing them on the bed if he plans on reading in bed late at night. Evidently he also has no qualms about allowing the four-footed one to jump and walk on me. (He forgot that with my medication I bruise very easily and so I have bruises the size of her paws on my body.)
Did I mention that this light, the one with the monkey hanging from it is rather high up from the bed? Beloved’s answer to my raised eyebrow was that the four-footed one was playing with the monkey. As if she just threw it up there all on her own. Next he will be telling me she jumped up there all on her own!
Right now neither Beloved nor the four-footed one are talking. And the monkey, while he’s just silently hanging around.
The for us-footed one thought she’d help Beloved shine his shoes. With her tongue. He didn’t appreciate the help and told her so. Not to be deterred, she decided to help get his jacket ready for him. By rolling on the sleeves of it. It isn’t every day that you can get a dog to roll on your tuxedo jacket, so you’d think he would realize how special her gift was.
Instead he fretted over some dog fur on the jacket while he wiped his perfect shoes. He reasoned that she would have received an invitation to the wedding if the bride and groom wanted her there. I received an invitation, slightly different from the one Beloved had received. Mine invited me to the wedding and said it was understandable if I couldn’t make it to the reception.
Alas I wasn’t attending the wedding or the reception. I was just home from the hospital and had been told under no circumstances could I attend the wedding or other public settings. Beloved was going to the wedding and then coming home for the four-footed one and myself.
I had tried to avoid the hospital in the first place, letting things go a bit tI far before reaching out to my specialists. My specialist told me to go to the hospital, where he promptly admitted me. He informed me the only wedding he would spring me out for was my own wedding. And since it wasn’t my own wedding, he told me I was staying.
Beloved asked if he should return the dress I had bought to wear for my friend’s wedding. Without giving me a chance to answer, my specialist told Beloved to return the dress. Which he did. Which is why he was now fretting over some dog fur and spit while I was sitting comfortably without a care in the world, reading and thanking my lucky stars that I wasn’t still in the hospital.
The bride had already promised me that she would be sending Beloved home after the ceremony. She had also promised to have some of the wedding cupcakes set aside for us. And when I was up to it, we’d get together and watch the wedding ceremony.
So I was comfortable while Beloved was fretting.
The four-footed one spent her morning on a long adventure with Beloved. The two of them came back soaked and shivering even though it wasn’t raining. It would seem that she triggered someone’s sprinkler system and got scared. So she didn’t move, staying where she was and getting soaked. Entire Beloved. He walked into the water to rescue the four-footed one.
The rescue resulted in a wet pair of adventurers, who still had a ways to go before they could get to the comfort of a nice, warm, dry home. Unfortunately the wind decided that it would help dry them off, only that didn’t work out to well. Thus two soaked, cold and miserable wanderers burst into the house, taking me by surprise.
I was resting with a nice book and a warm blanket. Recovering from treatment for lupus again. While they were drying off and getting warmed up (the four-footed one was deposited upon my blanket for snuggles and a warm-up) it occurred to me that I spent a fair amount of time these days resting and catching up on their adventures.
And I’m grateful that they share their stories, cuddles and yes at times not having to go out in dirty weather. So there are times that lupus manages to keep me warm and dry when I otherwise might be getting soaked while the four-footed one is trapped by technology.
I finally understand, I mean really understand, why when I have my blood drawn these days they call them labs. It isn’t because they will be running tests on my blood. Nor because they will be peering into my blood to look at the circus show that happens with my blood cells, although that does seem a bit of a laboratory thing doesn’t it?
You see friends the truth is it is the shape I’m in when I go to have my blood drawn. Pretty much a Frankenstein-type shuffling being enters the room with the required paperwork. And that individual is me, although I hardly recognize it at the time.
When they take the blood, it isn’t just a tiny bit. I’m pretty certain they drain my body and refill it with some odd fluid exchange that allows me to remain upright. I know, you find it hard to believe, but consider this. When you go to donate your blood at the end of the ordeal they ensure you have cookies and juice. When I have blood draws because of lupus they don’t offer me cookies or juice despite the fact they’ve removed 15-17 vials of blood.
So the place that takes my blood is a laboratory and I am in fact a type of monster. There is no other way to explain it. Honestly, would it hurt them to give me a cookie, or at least a sticker for all the blood they take?
I still remember, clearly, when I deceived my diagnosis of lupus. The sun was out, birds were flying outside my doctor’s office and my doctor’s face bore the hallmarks of delivering unpleasant news.
He told me he was sorry to have to tell me I had lupus. He was quick to assure me it wasn’t a death sentence, but was going to change my life going forward. He also said it wouldn’t necessarily be easy, but it wouldn’t always be hard. He spelled out how the disease can affect the body and was very clear that remission could happen.
Even with my own unease at this, I realized that this wasn’t something I would face alone. It struck me then, as it does now, that there is the word “us” in lupus. Us, as in a team, a group or not alone.
There is something comforting in knowing that you never face something completely alone. Even when you think you just want to handle it all on your own.
Over the years doctors have come and gone in my life. Some have stayed, the ones who are part of my team. My lupus team. The ones who remind me of the “us” in lupus. The ones who assure me I’m not alone.
There are other people who fill in the “us” too. Friends, loved ones and support people. So each of us who have lupus need to remember there is an “us”, even in the darkest of moments. We are never alone. Because with lupus there is always an “us”. You just have to look for it!