Change In Plans

I was going to attend a conference today.  Actually, I was going to meet a friend first, attend the conference and meet up with a colleague afterwards.  That was the plan.

What happened is a certain four-footed one got sick this morning.  On my outfit.  Which meant having to change and tend to the four-footed one.  So I had to let my friend know I wouldn’t be able to meet with her.  The conference though, was surely still a go.  Until that same certain four-footed one was sick again.

A call to the vet and the advisement to bring the four-footed one in meant no conference or meeting anyone after.  It turns out the four-footed one is very cuddly when she’s been sick.  It also turns out that she had something akin to food poisoning.  So medication has been prescribed, the garden has been scoured to make sure nothing not dog friendly was present.

Somehow this day still turned out okay. The dog is going to be okay.  We got lots of cuddle time and the garden go a good going over. Which was important because we found moldy peanuts and candies in an area that the four-footed one would love to check out.  (That’s probably why she got sick in the first place.)

Sure my plans changed. Sure I missed time with friends and a conference.  But all in all, knowing the dog is okay and making other plans to meet up with my friend and colleague for another day, has made it all still a decent day.

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Secret To A Good Life

The four-footed one decided that today was a day of rest, play, eat and exploration.  It started with sleeping in.  As in we didn’t get up until 530 this morning rather than 230-300 each morning.

After we got up, it was important to go outside and heeding the call of nature before returning into the house to okay with a pink dinosaur, a purple dog and green egg.  Great fun was had for at least 45 minutes before the court–footed one decided she needed to be fed.  Yep just like that play time was over.

Now technically I may have gotten things a bit mixed up in that after she was done eating, and begging didn’t get her anything from our food, she needed a rest.  While she rested we got some work done and when she woke up, she was ready to go exploring.

Exploration, as a long walk in an area we hadn’t visited in a while.  Chasing some ducks and rabbits before heading home, happy and pleased with herself.  Naturally at a short rest was called for.  Followed by food.  And play time.

Land after playtime, another adventure was called for.  Thankfully after that, we returned home and she rested while we finished getting things done.  I really need to live my dog’s life!

A Bit Eel-y

Someone told me that the way you show your lover what she/he means to you changes as you get older. When we are young, this person said, we tend to do the grand, showy things for love. Flowers, hearts, chocolates and all that.  As we get older, this person assured me that we tend to find other ways, more subtle ways to make those same declarations.

And I’m going with that. Because a few years ago I would have never cleaned fresh eel for Beloved and considered it a sign of love and affection.  Given his age, I’m sure he will also see this as a huge gesture of love.  If he doesn’t, I will have to educate him otherwise.  Probably with an eel up the side of his head!

Not only is Beloved a better cook, but he is the one who does the things like cleaning eels.  Except he wasn’t home and a friend brought in fresh eels.  I don’t even eat eels, but Beloved loves eel pie.  Prior to him in my life I had no idea that this was a thing. Now I won’t make the eel pie because I don’t know how.  But I’ve cleaned his eels and they are awaiting his return home.  As are the heads and insides of said eels.  Because surely that all screams out how much I love him.  Okay so maybe it also screams out how much I’m done with the eels.  Oh well.  It’s the thought that counts right? Right?

So Little Time, So Much To Explore

Some people like to explore ideas, concepts or the world through touching, watching and doing.  Some people like to explore the world through the written word and others still by listening to others.  Most people tend to lean towards a combination of ways to explore and understand things.

And then, well then there is the four-footed one’s approach to exploring the world.  She is a watcher and a doer, but mostly she explores through the sense of touch.  And by touch I mean using her tongue.  I’m pretty certain the  world, to her, is divided into two camps:  food and not food.

The way to know if something is food or not is to touch it. With at least your tongue.  But it’s even better if you can get the whole thing in your mouth, give it a feel and a small chew.  All in the name of exploration of course.  And so leaves, paper, thread and dirt have all been explored this way. As has grass, bark and rocks.

Now she’s moved onto other items:  dozing wasps and bees, beetles and slugs.  And now spiders.  So far only spiders are clearly in the food category.  A delicacy even based on her desire to continue to eat them and actively search them out.  I might even go far enough as to say they are the most desirous thing in her diet right now and it’s not for lack of me providing her food.

Now if I could only teach her that the whole world doesn’t need to be explored so vigorously.

The Great Kibble Incident, or My Dog Is A Vaccum Cleaner On Legs

The four-footed one must have thought she won the lottery this morning when her kibble container got knocked over.  Not so much because the container was knocked over as much as the fact that once it fell, the lid popped off.  Kibble rained freely in the room.  Kibbles everywhere!

The four-footed one decided that she needed to act fast.  She’s not foolish and free kibble would be a limited time offer to be sure.  So she did her best impression of a vacuum cleaner!  A vacuum cleaner on fast legs.

While she did her part to clean up the kibble mess, I was trying to capture the wayward kibble and get it back in the container.  I wasn’t as effective as her because hands aren’t the same as vacuums cleaners. Especially not stiff, sore hands that had this morning thanks to lupus.

The four-footed one ate so fast, gulping as much as she could at once that she ended up burping a log time after she was done eating.  Loud belching noises erupted from her tiny frame and dare I say she seemed rather pleased with herself.  As for me, I wouldn’t say I was pleased at all with the kibble loss, nor the belching.  Mostly I wasn’t pleased with myself and how lupus can take an ordinary moment into a reminder of the changes in my life.

Just A Mash

Mashed potatoes and I have a strange relationship.  okay to be fair, it may not be that the potatoes have a relationship with me.  I mean they’ve been cooked to death, squashed until they’re piles of mashed potato min do on a plate.  I really don’t think they are up for a relationship, certainly not with me.  I, on the other hand, do have a relationship with them.

I suppose I enjoyed them enough as a young child.  I mean who doesn’t love food you can play with and sculpt into whatever your heart desires?  But as I got older I lost the simple pleasures of this.  And somewhere along the line, in my life anyway, bad news began to be equated with mashed potatoes.

I know what you are thinking, no way that’s possible.  But for a stretch in my life, it seemed every time I was given bad news, like hey you have lupus, the meal I was having had mashed potatoes.  Frankly it got weird.  I mean I saw them being prepared or on my plate and I’d start to feel anxious.

This wouldn’t be an issue, except Beloved holds the potato sacred. He believes eating it in a variety of forms is a way of honouring the humble and powerful potato.  Yes this includes being mashed.  Especially mashed because evidently he is still into sculpting his meal.

While I can’t place my finger on things, I’ve had a feeling all day that something was going a bit wonky.  Naturally when I see potatoes, in the mashed variety, upon the plate Beloved is carrying, I assume the worst.  Such as his cancer is back.  Or he has heart problems.  Wait, maybe he’s leaving me, hey there is only so much one man can out up with.

So I waited.  And I watched he started to use his fork to make whimsical designs in the potato.  Still I waited as he started to eat.  Eat the mashed potato as if it was nothing.  How could he miss the omen on the plates, and in his mouth?  Finally, after giving me a strange look, he out his fork down, reached across the table and said “what’s got you thinking so hard”.

I pointed, unable to speak because surely this is where the bad news comes.  He sighed, smiled gently and said, “I had to use them up before they went off and I love a good mash now and then.  If you won’t be eating yours, I will have them.”  And that was it.  Extra mashed potatoes for him and a strange sense of what just happened for me.

Different Dance With The Same Steps

Beloved works odd hours.  Mostly because he works more than one job.  These odd hours leads to some interesting obstacles when it comes to meal planning, not to mention other logistics.

We try to do mass cooking when he’s around.  And by we I mean him.  He tries to sort out several meals that can keep for a few days.  He also tries to “repurpose” meat etc. so he can make multiple meals after.  As for me, I tend to pass judgment on what he is planning.  (In fairness, he is the better cook out of the two of us and he’s not a fan of my creations for the most part.)

The problem with this approach is finding storage room for everything.  And once we get past that hurdle, the next big hurdle he faces is actually eating the food days later.  Because what sounded delicious on Sunday is totally not what he wants on Tuesday.  So he kind of hastily eats it on Tuesday and then lists after something more tasteful that day.

Enter a quick stop for more than coffee, such as a package of nuts or cake if the mood strikes.  And sometimes, if the disappointment was large enough, it becomes a package of nuts and cake.  Or maybe two pieces of cake. At which point he arrives home between occupations and bemoans his food choice.

And around and around we go with this.  I’m not much better in that I tend to not be a fan of leftovers.  So this means he is stuck with his food that seemed brilliant only days before.  But each week we do this same dance.  And each week he swears it will be different.