A Prayer for the New Year

"A Prayer for the New Year (2012)" from Living the Questions from Living the Questions on Vimeo.


Happy New Year!

(This video was brought to my attention by a good friend who makes an appearance and whose daughter starts and ends the film.)

Christmas 2011

We had a stay at home year, this year.  I am at a point where sitting in the car for more than 30 minutes causes fetal rebellion and we are both nervous about getting too far from the hospital.  I know that going into labor is not a sudden event and that once you start the process you have time before the baby actually emerges but nonetheless, caution is on my mind.

You may want to take note of one of our great neurosis.  Any wrapping paper we buy must fit into the red, silver, black or white category.  Not only does it make the tree look fancy, it keeps you from buying those rolls of ribbons with purple and blue on them that never get used.  See, I am really just conserving.  

Christmas Eve was spent with the Farmington family, pageant and all.  What a sweet & entertaining family tradition for all the grandkids to dress up and reenact with Gummy and Gumpa providing the reading and music.  The commentary from the stable full of small people is hilarious. We were honored to be a part.  Especially Elliott who played the wisest and oldest of the wise men.

Christmas morning was just our mini family at home.  Sleeping in, lounging, a little gift giving and more lounging.  I loved it.

Every year I get sad that my siblings and dad aren't around on Christmas morning. There just isn't a central location for us to congregate where everyone feels comfortable and welcome so we have all started to stay at our own houses which delays the start of the festivities until late in the afternoon.  I hate the idea of my family sitting isolated each at their own houses, it doesn't seem like the right way to start the day.

After a very emotional and disappointing Christmas last year trying to schedule events and unsuccessfully rally the family to participate, I made the decision to simplify for the sake of my own sanity (and E's).  I wasn't totally successful but it was certainly progress.  I decided that all I can do is offer my home and hospitality.  Beyond that it quickly becomes futile and frustrating.

I can't force the family to engage nor can I remove the obstacles from their lives that make it problematic to make and keep social commitments.  All I can do is withdraw expectations so I am not disappointed and they are not obligated.  This approach doesn't solve all of my anxiety about the holidays with a family I feel is lacking glue, but it does offer some relief and progress toward learning to let go a little bit.  Good practice for impending motherhood, no?

E and I take turns being Santa and this year (since we officially should have been in Boise) it was his turn.  Do you love how the stockings are hung from the TV with care? One day we will get a mantle and fix the tile. Next year... or maybe the year after.

 The family belly picture.  I wish you could see it better but here we are in all of our Christmas glory.

I HATE this picture but I am posting it for posterity.  My butt has been swelling for months so I can accept that but my face just started and I didn't realize it until I looked at these photos.  When you are this pregnant it is hard to remember that life or your body was ever any different.  Hopefully this photo will act as a reminder of physical challenges I faced at 9 months preggers that will soon be diminished.
I also can't get over that sweet smile on E's face and didn't want it to go to waste.

We had a really great Christmas day.  Surrogate sister Amy H joined us for breakfast.  We took a long walk with 3 Boston Terriers,  a true exercise in patience.  Then more eating.  Timmy and his lady joined us in the late afternoon for some eating and Heather came for our dinner of French Onion Soup and game time.  Dad was not feeling well enough to join us.

Low stress, good people, delicious food and some hearty laughs made for a lovely Christmas.  

Tree Hunting

Last week we did our annual tree hunting adventure.

E and I both struggle with the morality of taking trees out of the woods so we may make this an every other year tradition.  It just really hurts to pay $80 for a tree when you can make an adventure of it, spend some time in the sun and snow and it only costs you $10.

I was less than helpful this year but I did hike up a little bit and was an amazing supervisor.  As usual.

Kimball was also less than helpful and was really excited to be in the snow for about 15 minutes and then the shivering and paw licking started so he got to ride in the sled.  So as to not embarrass him too much, I only made him wear his shoes, not his coat.

Kimball, the nordic beast

The boys being buddies

Our Subaru totally rallied so I am 10 degrees less frustrated about driving a family car. AND when I win the Subaru photo contest and become a millionaire I will be even happier.  That way I can buy this car for when I am being fun and drive the Subaru when I am feeling practical (which is twice a year).

San Francisco

I went on one final work trip, before the family expands, to work on the same project we did in New York (I don't list the client name cause I don't want to be flagged by the internet Gods who troll looking for buzz about their product).

This was the install at Union Square

It was just before the lighting of all the festive decor but the holiday bustle was definitely in the air.  

We ate amazing food.  Lots of oysters and clam chowder but our best meal with at a place called Hogs and Rocks.   Just slices of the best pig body you have ever eaten and some oysters on the side.  Delicious. 

Pile of Ham.  

We left the mutt behind, which always makes me a little sad, especially since he has started to have some kind of dog anxiety that I am not sure how to deal with.  The dog psychologist in me tells me to ignore it outwardly and just have a little internal compassion for the life changes that are about to happen to him. 

Maya found him in the bathtub hiding, which broke my heart a little.  He REALLY hates the bathtub so to be motivated enough to put himself there he must have been feeling very dramatic.
He also re-arranged the snow boots to make his own little house.

These spots were only chosen because the last time he stayed over he found solace inside the fireplace, which has now been blocked by a baby gate.

Oh little Buddy. I will try to give you the love you need, even with our new person around.

We also did a little walking by the water, which we love.  Next move will be toward the sea.

We went to offer moral support to Miss Andrea at the Big Sur Half Marathon.  We missed her at the finish line because she cut about 30 minutes off her time.  Maybe she should run slower so we can cheer for her.  

I also found out that why they don't like really pregnant girls to fly.  It doesn't have as much to do with them being afraid of you going into labor as it does with the size of the lavatory.  I went in, tried to turn around but had some difficulty.  So back in, I did.  I am large and that was my last journey until I can take my little person with me on the exterior.

Farewell Flock

Tis a sad day at Sugarhood Farms.  We have come to the point where we need to break up our flock.

We must have been bad chicken parents and it has promoted aggressive behavior among the ladies.  They started getting really aggressive toward each other about 2 months ago and I have no idea what is causing it.  Maybe they could feel winter approaching and the argument about who truly burnt down the house last year finally came to a head.

It could be that Hattie and Penny are better looking than the others so they have been targeted.  I don't really know what insights this kind of violence but it infuriates me.

While we were in the yard yesterday Bonnie (the eldest) got her buddy Becky and they attacked Hattie's rear-end pulling out beaks full of butt feathers.  Poor Hattie has no down left on her hind quarters and her crazy tail feathers are gone too.  She is not the beauty she was just 48 hours ago.

Lacy was brooding for a few weeks and every time we forced her out of the nest box, Becky and Scarlet would attack her to keep her away from the food.  Lacy was bald on one side for a week or so and I am convinced she felt too ugly to show herself.  I am convinced that was more the cause of her brooding than the need to hatch the egg of empty promises.

I thought I could solve the aggression problem by separating them but when I put Lacy outside the coop to wander the yard, she and Scarlet would get into a cock fight through the fence. Puffing up their chests, running at each and jumping up to attack each other through the wire.  Really, ladies?

Now that winter is approaching and separating them is not an option, we as the proprietors of the farm, have decided it is best to break things up.

We are not giving up on our fowl dreams, just accepting social defeat and planning for a fresh start in the spring.

All of the ladies have served us well so we would like them to go to good homes but I am setting December 1st as our deadline. After that point, they will be taken to the Vegan sanctuary to live out their days.

If you, or anyone you know are interested in taking in some new yard inhabitants, please let me know.

Here is a detailed chicken census:

Bonnie

2 year old Bard Rock
Lays Brown eggs

(Can be paired with anyone, except Hattie, because she wants to eat her)

Hattie

1.5 year White crested Blue Polish 

lays white eggs

(Can be paired with Penny or Lacey, she gets picked on a lot because she has the nicest hat)

Scarlet 

1.5 year old Maran 

lays chocolate brown, speckled eggs

(this chicken is not officially up for adoption as she belongs to a friend.  If that changes, I will update the post)

Little Becky

2 year old Americana  

lays blue eggs

(Can be paired with Bonnie, Lacey or Penny.  She hasn't been the same since Big Becky, may she rest in peace, passed last fall)

Penny

3 year old Black Laced Hamburg  

lays white eggs

(I love her... she can go with anyone because she is a mature and nice lady but I will miss her and may need to come visit.  She could win the State Fair if you have the patience to read all the rules to enter her)

Lacy

1.5 year old Black Laced Wyandotte

lays brown eggs

(Can be paired with Bonnie, Becky or Penny)

Life should be a musical

I started this post a long time ago but never finished it.  It makes me cry too much each time I start to work on it.  So, I will publish it as is, no edits or overdrawn thought:

Every year when I watch the Tony awards I ask the same question: What am I doing?

I am either angry because they are a mess, which is usually the case, or I am torn up inside because I know that is what I should be doing. I belong in a theater.

Now that we have a new person coming into our lives I am faced with a very real question: How do you raise a child without the theater?

Where do you find a built in community of 40 people who are waiting around for their next entrance with raw emotion and endless energy to share?  They are fixtures, even if it is briefly and you know where to find them and what they are going to do.  It is all decided and there is comfort in those few hours of predictability.

How do you entertain kids if it isn't by running through seas of empty seats with show tunes and dance steps filling the air around them?  

How do you make summer memories etched forever in your mind without a stage under the stars, crisp summer air and late night adventures laced with petty theater speak?

How do you learn lullabies without someone to write them for you and a creative team to provide a visual memory to accompany each verse?

How do you learn the answer to obscure trivia if you don't live and breath history and life through musical theater?

How do you offer simple solutions through song? Each problem having such a clear answer, punctuated by a light cue and an ensemble.

Where do you find your moral compass if not in the pages of great play writes?

How do you navigate life's trials without a director and a script to teach you?

Fruition

Once upon a time, I spoke at a conference about Pop-Up retail.  Then, there was some follow-up with an article.  Then, there was a project awarded to us by Timberland.  Then, there was an offer to write a book (I will expand on this part later).  Then, it all came together and now we are getting some attention and my little pet project has blossomed into something significant.  I am very pleased.

It was obviously not without the talent of the  people that work along side me, I cannot go it alone. I am not the designer or the carpenter or the project manager.  So what do I contribute?  Not really sure... BUT, this week I was proud as we debuted this super fancy installation on the corner of 23rd and Broadway on the plaza of the Flatiron Building in NYC.

The point of the booth was to highlight the new Timberland EarthKeepers line of shoes that are made from recycled PET bottles, organic cotton, green rubber and vegetable dye.  Very responsible.

It was only there for 5 days but the response was incredible, better than an infomercial. The setting wasn't too shabby either with the amazing skyline behind us.   Yes, the Empire State Building is tall and spectacular.

A view of the inside, looking up through an acrylic ceiling with a decoy tree applique. You are supposed to feel natural in here, even surrounded by bottles.

The walls are built from 450 lbs of plastic bottles taken from the recycling center and enclosed in a steel mesh.

This project has been a challenge from its inception and the weather in NYC did not make an already nerve racking week any easier.

How do you weather proof a building made out of plastic bottles, secure it at night, keep the electronics safe and the power from shorting out due to the mounting puddles?  Oh and be able to build it in 4 hours.

Well, we did it and fought the bureaucratic bullshit that envelopes all activity in New York.

Remember when I broke up with the Big Apple? Well, this was like going to a gala with an ex boyfriend believing that things really weren't that bad when you were together.  It was all drama you created in your head.  Then you get your $100,000 dress ripped on the way in, your ex is twice as offensive as you remember him and you find yourself without a way home because your date has sourced another romantic outlet by the end of the night.

No, we are broken up for good.  Im coming back NYC because I won't be beaten down by a place.  Next time I am wearing my armor and running shoes, not an evening gown.

Lessons learned:
-Following the rules is for fools with a lot of money and time.  I don't have either so I won't be doing that again.
-If you are going to be installing something in the middle of a busy city, do it in the middle of the night. Daylight is for sissies.
-Carry bribe money.
-Weather sucks and is non-descriminatory
-All installations should be located within 5 minutes of a Home Depot.
-Do not do this at 7 months pregnant.

Sweet Photos

Just found these photos.

I sure think he's sweet

Sugarhood Garden Yield

view full image

Inspiration Needed

Ever since I started reading The Bloggess, I am too shy to write anything.

Each time I start a post it diverts to the unfocused subject matter swimming in my pregnant brain.  None of which is clever or inspired.

I want to think about something other than the contents of my belly, focus on the rest of the world that keeps moving around me but every time I feel I am headed somewhere clever I get a little kick in the gut.

My gut says, "here I am, your precious alien.  I am restless and hungry with a short fuse, that is how you know I am yours.  We are companions now, just thought you might need a little reminder since I could sense you thinking about other things."

And so, I hold my bulging belly, give it a little rub for good luck and try to wrestle my thoughts into cohesion.

Blog Appreciation

Some blogs are better than others and this blog is fantastic and worth a look.

I laughed out loud in a public place today as I read it, feeling the company of a complete stranger who loves the same kind of mischief I do.

Here is the post that got me hooked:

This morning I had a fight with Victor about towels. I can’t tell you the details because it wasn’t interesting enough to document at the time, but it was basically me telling Victor I needed to buy new bath towels, and Victor insisting that I NOT buy towels because I “just bought new towels“. Then I pointed out that the last towels I’d bought were hot pink beach towels, and he was all “EXACTLY” and then I hit my head against the wall for an hour.

Then Laura came to pick me up so we could go to the discount outlet together, and as Victor gave me a kiss goodbye he lovingly whispered, “You are not allowed to bring any more goddam towels in this house or I will strangle you“.   And that was exactly what I was still echoing through my head an hour later, when Laura and I stopped our shopping carts and stared up in confused, silent awe at a display of enormous metal chickens, made from rusted oil drums.

Laura:  I think you need one of those.

me:  You’re joking, but they’re kind of horrifically awesome.

Laura: I’m not joking. We need to buy you one.

me:  The 5-foot tall one was $300, marked down to $100.  That’s like, $200 worth of chicken for free.

Laura:  You’d be crazy not to buy that.  I mean, look at it. IT’S FULL OF WHIMSY.

me:  Victor’d be pissed.

Laura:  Yup.

me:  But on the plus side?  It’s not towels.

Laura:  Yup.

me:  We will name him Henry.  Or Charlie.  Or O’Shannesy.

Laura:  Or Beyoncé.

me:  Or Beyoncé. Yes.  And when our friends are sad we can leave him at their front door to cheer them up.

Laura:  Exactly. It’ll be like, “You thought *yesterday* was bad?  Well, now you have a enormous metal chicken to deal with.  Perspective.  Now you have it.”

Then we flagged down a salesman, and we were all “What can you tell us about these chickens?”, as if we were in an art gallery, and not in a store that specializes in last years’ bathmats.  He didn’t know anything about them, but he said that they’d only only sold one and it was to a really drunk lady, and then Laura and I were all “SOLD.  All this chicken belongs to us now.”

Insert-inappropriate-cock-joke-here.

So he loaded it onto a trolley, but Beyoncé was surprisingly unstable, and the giant 5 foot metal chicken crashed over onto the floor.  And Laura and I were all “CHICKEN DOWN!  CLEAN-UP IN AISLE 3″ but he didn’t laugh.  Then the manager came to see what was causing all the commotion, and that’s when he found the very-conservative salesman unhappily struggling to right an enthusiastically pointy chicken which was almost as tall as he was.  The salesman was having a hard time, and he told everyone to stand back “because this chicken will cut you“, and at first I thought he meant it as a threat, like “That chicken has a shiv”, but turns out he just meant that all the chickens’ ends were sharp and rusty.  It was awesome, and Laura and I agreed that even if we got tetanus, this chicken had already paid for himself even before we got it in her truck.

Then we got to my house and quietly snuck the chicken up to my front door, rang the doorbell, and hid around the corner.

Victor opened the door and looked at the chicken in stunned silence for about 3 seconds.  Then he sighed, closed the door and walked away.

Laura:  What the fuck?  That’s it?  That’s the only reaction we get?

me:  That’s it. He’s a hard man to rattle.

Victor was surprisingly pissed that I’d “wasted money” on an enormous chicken, because apparently he couldn’t appreciate the hysterical value of a 5 foot chicken ringing the doorbell.  Then I said, “Well, at least it’s not towels” and apparently that was the wrong thing to say because that’s when Victor screamed and stormed off, but I knew he was locked in his office because I could hear him punching things in there.  Then I yelled through his door, “It’s an anniversary gift for you, asshole.  Two whole weeks early.  15 YEARS IS BIG METAL CHICKENS.”

Then he yelled that he wanted it gone, but I couldn’t move it myself, so instead I said okay and went to watch tv.  Then when the UPS guy came I hid, but he was all “Dude.  Nice chicken” and Victor yelled, “IT IS NOT A NICE CHICKEN”.  Which was probably very confusing to the UPS guy, who was just trying to be polite, Victor. Victor seemed more disgruntled than usual, so I finally dragged the chicken into the backyard and wedged it into a clump of trees so that it could scare the snakes away.  Then I came in and Victor angrily pulled me into his office so that I could see that I’d stationed Beyoncé directly in front of his only window.  And I was all “Exactly. YOU’RE WELCOME.”  I told him that he could move Beyoncé if he wanted to, but he totally hasn’t.  Probably because of all of the giant rocks I piled on Beyonce’s feet to dissuade burglars.  Or possibly because Beyoncé is growing on him.  Still, I can’t help but think that we wouldn’t even be having this argument if Beyoncé was towels.  Honestly, this whole chicken is really a lesson in picking your battles more carefully.  Plus, he’s awesome and I can’t stop giggling every time I look at him.  Beyoncé, that is.

Best. 15th anniversary. ever.

DPS

I like my dog.  A little too much.

The more dogs I meet, the more partial I become to this little grey scale body and indifferent personality that lives along side us.

I am always curious what is going on inside his walnut brain and this weekend as we took little car rides around Boise, it became clearer to me how the mechanics inside his head work.

I picture him having a little DPS (Dog Positioning System) inside his tiny skull and every time he goes on a new route, a very tangible canal is cut in the globe that rules his sense of direction.  I picture it as a little Play-Dough map like what you would see in a Sesame Street Claymation sketch.

This theory explains how he can sleep in the car for hours but as soon as you take a turn down any stretch of road he has never been on before or take a different route home, he is immediately alert.  I want to clarify that it is not just because the car is slowing down or the sound of the blinker has aroused him.  It is something innately canine that shakes him from his restful lounging.  This is the only part of his genetic heritage that still exists which is what makes this talent so extraordinary to me.

When nature calls him, he sits upon his dog throne and takes in the visuals associated with the new route, filing them away in the deep memory of his DPS.  When the mapping is complete and the new route meets the old, he can relax again.  He never needs to see this place again, he has catalogued the information in his walnut and now he can sleep soundly upon his dog perch until the next wrong turn.

They will be besties

Snakes are not scary

The Hansen Family

(including 5 month pregnant me & unborn baby girl)

and our boat guest, "The Boy"

This weekend we took a little trip to Jackson Hole to raft the Snake river.

There is always that anxiety about getting out of town and rafting adds a whole new realm to the gear gathering. There is the eternal list of exclusively rafting goods you need to take with you, in addition to all the hand carry-able comforts that make camping bearable.

The countdown begins (It happens this way every time)

3 weeks: I am really excited and ready to commit to any adventure

1 week: I start to get a little anxious... lots to get done. Not sure I am up for it.

48 hours: I make the announcement I don't want to go anymore. E rolls his eyes and ignores me.

24 hours: I am even more obstinate and angry because E didn't take my threat of not wanting to go seriously. Sometimes some tears, sometimes some silent treatment of the spouse but rarely any progress.

18 hours: I drag my feet but start preparations, knowing my fate is near and I may not be excited about the trip but I will be even less excited when I find out I forgot bug spray and a water bottle.

8 hours: A stressful and unpleasant departure from home. Inevitably we are leaving after work and driving at night to some rural destination with no stores or cell phone coverage. So, I spend the day trying to think of the little things I left behind and what work items I need to close up, in case I die. Not to mention thinking about the filth that may be found in my home if I don't make it back.

(Do you know my dad's favorite laugh line at the end Fiddler on the Roof when Tevye is trying to get Golde to leave and she yells at him, "I don't want to leave a dirty house!"? I never thought it was funny and still don't. Recognizing, of course, that my mom never let house work get in the way of any plans she had, which made her saying this line that much more ironic. I don't want to be a laugh line so I don't want to leave a dirty house)

We get on the road and I have finally settled into my fate. Once we are an hour outside of town I am relieved to be gone. Nothing to be done now but enjoy the journey.

This weekend was no different. We had planned a trip to Jackson Hole months ago and it sounded like a really great idea until 48 hours before we left. Tired, overwhelmed by the thought of sleeping on the ground with my heavy body and swollen belly and unsure if I am going to actually get on the water, it all sounded like too much work to me.

But, I went. E explained to me (as if I were 3) that we had made a commitment and there were people counting on us to be there. We were going. And as it usually goes with me, I am so glad that I did.

What a lovely weekend of crisp nights and hot days in the sun on the beautiful snake river. Good company, lightening storms and a few rousing games of Kubb made for a perfectly lovely weekend.

I was afraid that I wouldn't want to do the rapid section, as my self preservation instincts are in overdrive but when faced with prospect of sitting alone on the shore, I had to get on the boat. I had a grand time and was reminded why I love that stretch of river more than any other.

The moral of the story is this: You should leave town, even if it makes you cry.

The Zeleney, Letey Family pose in front of the Tetons

Letey, Natalka, Rob DeBirk, Otto, Saphu & Mr. Jason Sadderfield Esq.

Happy to be on the water

Miss Anndrea in the Almighty Pink Taco

E teaching "The Boy" how to row, row, row the boat

Buddy! My Majestic Beast

Missing toe and all

O Danny Boy

To the anonymous bagpiper in the park:

Thank you for your sweet songs that waft North through the streets and find me on the loneliest of nights. Your music floats through my open windows and searches me out, in my solitude. It makes this world feel so intimate.

I don't recognize your songs, only the soft melodies of a very public solitude.

I came to find you twice this week. I thought I should tell you I was listening to your musical lament. It sounds so personal, I didn't want you to expose yourself too much to a stranger.

When I arrived at the park I was surprised by how many people were still there after dark. The municipal lighting was clearly missing from the picture that night and an already musty atmosphere from the surrounding forest fires was complimented by the soft drone of your pipes.

You stayed hidden among the trees, elusive and reticent.

I'm glad we never met. I like it better this way, an inconspicuous muse that calms my anxious mind from among the cottonwoods. A faceless friend.

How things should be

Yesterday I had an experience that has made me restless for more like it.

On the recommendation of a few different friends, I got past the ridiculous name of the establishment and went for a tooth tune up at the Dental Spa.

You laugh, as I did but this business model is how things should be done.

You walk into a highly designed space that is clean but not clinical and you are greeted by the first of a string of beautiful people. Not so beautiful you hate them, just pretty enough to be pleasant.

The lounge where you fill out paperwork and wait for your escort is filled with semi-private rooms with massage chairs and a hostess makes her rounds to be sure you are comfortable and that you have tea or water, to complete your pre-dental relaxation.

My appt was @ 10am and they took me back @ 10:02. Major points. If there is anything I find infuriating it is how Dr's over-schedule because patients are habitually late. Can't we all just make commitments we can keep so I can be less angry?

On the way back they stop, give you a little herbal hand scrub and a paraffin wax dip for your flanges. This serves a dual purpose. Not only does it make your hands oh so soft but it keeps you from making all parties nervous while you grip the arm rests on your chair. No gripping needed, you have yeti size gloves and wax to keep you warm.

Would you like a warm or a cold eye mask to wear during your procedure? And, would you like the chair heat and vibration turned on or just the heat?

With the mask you don't have that awkward, do I look at you while I clean my teeth or the ever telling squinting from discomfort that can be too telling of your dental lifestyle. Not to mention feeling like a beauty queen when you leave.

Did I mention no scraping? The cleaning is done by laser and water. Excellent!

The hygienist referred to both me and Elliott (whose teeth she had just finished) by name the entire, engaging one sided conversation she was having while her hands were stuffed in my mouth. It is truly a talent to engage someone whom you really don't want a response from.

Once I was clean it was time to see the handsome dentist. But wait... a shoulder, neck and face massage while you wait? Yes please!

In, cleaned, examined, massaged, paraffined and out in 65 minutes for under $100.

This is how things should be.

Buddy in his Yuppie dog cast

The Recovery

Poor little gimpy Buddy did get to come home the night of his surgery but I am not sure it was the right decision.

If you have ever been under anesthesia you know how confusing it is when you wake up. You are sore but aren't sure where you are, you are missing a few hours and you aren't in the same place you were when you felt the cold fluid in your veins.

Now imagine you are a dog and already confused and there was not a familiar face in the waiting room so you try to get up and figure things out but you are too floppy and your foot won't work.

When they brought Buddy out to me his tongue was still hanging out of his mouth and he couldn't hold his head up. It was so sweet how he just rested against me to hold himself up and would look up at me confused and sore. Poor guy.

He had a really terrible night at home the first night, pacing trying to wake up and crying every time he would put his foot down. By morning he was alert enough to stand upright and keep his foot off the ground and was able to get around a lot better.

He has started to wag his numbin again and this afternoon he pounced his squeeky guy. I am slowly getting my dog back!

He goes to that special place every few hours when his pain meds are fresh but for the most part he is fairing well and being a good sport.

This is how his day went yesterday:

This little piggy...

Do you have any idea how much I adore my mutt? I mean, I really, really love him. He has been by my side longer than E has and he is my best, hairiest buddy. We have seen the world together and I really love his little dog body.

I write a blog post about him once a week but don't publish them because that is creepy and I fear no one would ever come here to read again.

Right now my buddy is having his little left pinky amputated and I am having a really hard time. When we left him at the vet this morning, I cried and the nice nurse told me it would be ok and they are open 24 hours so we can visit him any time if we need to.

E explained to aforementioned nurse that Buddy is really sensitive so please watch him closely for pain. Her response was, "Of course he is, he is a Boston." I felt ok about leaving him after that.

About 6 months ago, we came home from a week long trip and he had this mass that had grown, just in that week, on his front driver's side foot. Heather assisted in the dog-body-surgery to remove it and the pathology report came back with encouraging but expensive news.

Good news: It wasn't cancer, it was a Neurofibrosarcoma, which simply put, is a kind of tumor that grows around the nerves and pinches them. It is painful and fast growing but on his foot is not fatal and rarely spreads to the lungs or heart. It did explain a little about his neurosis of not wanting to walk on bark or gravel with his delicate feet. But honestly, I think it has more to do with his sensitive sensibilities than his nerves.

Expensive News: It was going to grow back. Because of the spindly nature of the tissue, they couldn't get all the diseased cells and it grows fast.

A few weeks ago, the dog boy started showing signs of this growth coming back. He got lethargic (I mean more than his usual 20 hours of sleep, snoring, licking walls, staring at corners and acting dead) he was limping a little and wasn't eating. Again, more than his usual 2-3 day binge dieting.

We took him to a specialist (I need to say that I think it is ridiculous there is a dog nerve specialist but I am also grateful he chose this totally over the top profession) who recommended that we have the toe amputated so they can get all the diseased tissue out.

We have been dreading this surgery for 3 weeks and put it off as long as we could but the growth is visibly larger and it was time. When I think about this ordeal Kimball is going through it makes me cry.

I can't explain to him why he has to be at strange hospital where he doesn't know anyone. Why they are going to hurt him and why he has to spend the night, in pain, in a metal box without his heating pad or his people to keep him warm. I can't tell him why his little dog shoe is going to hurt or why he can't jump off the bed for a few weeks or why he might be a little tippy once the bandaid comes off.

And the cone, the cone is so terrible. Poor guy hits the sides of the dog door trying to get through and you laugh a little because he is confused but it hurts my heart.

I am holding off calling the dogspital to check on him but I really, really want to.

I am worried he won't find our matching pins in our feet that endearing either.

Hang in there, Buddy. We will not judge and will mock you as little as we can. You are a good, brave, buddy.