a) Contemplating membership to an order of canine monks?
b) Pining for the days of Soviet rule by Mikhail Gorbachev?
c) Plotting revenge against an over-caffeinated groomer?
Actually, it’s d) suffering from a stress-related hot spot after being boarded in the animal hospital’s kennel for five days while the Uncools took on Chicago.
Where we helped with a Cure JM educational conference for young adults with juvenile myositis (they sent me to the store when then need more Pepsi – hey, every little bit …).
Where a team of JM family and friends raised more than $75,000 in conjunction with the Chicago Half Marathon and 5K (I sat in our team tent in Charity Village inflating and tying balloons, and definitely NOT taking hits off the helium tank then attempting to sing “Bohemian Rhapsody.”)
Where Thing 2 ran his first 5K (tying me for total 5Ks run in a lifetime):
Where I ate of the deep-dish, gazed upward at your man-made vertical beauty from a riverboat and soaked in a final nine full innings of Major League Baseball (even if it was the White Sox vs. the lowly Royals).
Where Thing 1’s doc did not freak me out about any vague discoloring of her eyelids or bone structure (and not just because I made My Love sit through this check-up for a change while I took Thing 2 out for lattes and cinnamon rolls).
But back to Murphy.
The doggie dermatologist said yesterday that he appears to be recovering well from his bout with sterile nodular pyogranuloma syndrome, which I’m renaming “OhMyGod – your dog’s face is going bald” disease because that’s pretty much what everyone says when they first see him.
STRANGER: “OhMyGod – your dog’s face is going bald!”
UNCOOL: “Yes, and if you rub your face against his, it might help you with that mustache problem, lady!”
So now we taper Murphy’s medication again while I rub ointment into his blessed little head three times a day.
And we wait again on blood results to learn about whether we can taper Thing 1’s medication.
And life has returned to normally abnormal around here again. Pretty much.