Hi! Hello! I am alive- or at least not dead- after my bout with gastro-whatsis. I feel much better now, the symptoms and attendant unpleasantness having just gone away on its own eventually. But fun while it lasted, uh huh.
Unfortunately I am still struggling to find time to blog in the style to which I was once accustomed. Much of that is attributable to Little Guy; supervising him during his waking hours is a full time job. He's into everything, chewing, bounding, playing. He loves most of all to romp in the pile of pillows on our bed which he treats as his own special den. Fun! for! little! dogs! where! is! my! toy?! aha! there! it! is!
By the time he finally goes to sleep, I need to catch up on all that life stuff in the half hour or so before my own energy levels go *wumpf* and I fall asleep myself. Also, there was a time when he would happily curl up in my lap while I sat at the computer; now he is big enough (and clever enough) to jump up onto the chair itself before scaling the dining room table and jumping on the keyboard with his tiny furry paws.
So my posts end up looking like this: shadiafhlpishdfaidhiDHIwhfihncCNSIHLOIchHIHISHIhishdihisdhipa
Ahem. We're working on the "down" and "no" commands.
On the upside, we have (touch wood) more or less mastered the housbreaking thing, as eventually he cottoned on to the fact that the bell on the door was for multi-purpose potty activities. Huzzah! It's been five days now with no accidents in the house (unless of course he's wheaked one out someplace I haven't yet discovered, like the back of my closet.)
In other news, I made an appointment to go see Dr. Best Friend in a couple of weeks- a sort of speculative re-con exercise, if you will. Not to mention the fact that I have not seen in her in about a year, and I remain rather fond of her and miss her in the way in which you miss people who you don't really know but for whom you harbour the friend-crush. We'll see. I have no doubt the existing waiting lists for any of the Scottish clinics are still as absurdly long as always, and I have not quite mustered the will or enthusiasm to seriously consider going abroad.
But I figure, what the hell. There's really no harm in at least getting a foot in there- since after all, you know that old chestnut. When is a door not a door?
When it's ajar.