I guess we all have our breaking point.
For the past few days I’ve fallen off the scene desperately trying to nurse Henry back to health. As most of you are likely aware, Henry hasn’t been well for a few weeks now.
I believe the problem was brought on when he caught one of the disgusting, feral cats that roams Sunnyside after it made the unfortunate choice to jump in my yard. There was meowing, there was scratching, there was cat blood.
I’ve brought Henry to two vets now and tried to explain what I think is causing his illness. They essentially ignore what I say and send me home with antibiotics.
While I have aimed to take the vets’ word for it, Henry doesn’t want to eat anymore. He still has diarrhea, and he’s still throwing up.
I’ve blogged through a lot of disasters since 2009, funerals, divorces, elections, floods… I can’t really handle Henry being sick. It shuts me down uniquely.
To make matters worse, I’m flying to Bermuda on business in a few hours – I’ll be out of the country all week. I have arranged care for the babies and even another vet visit, but that doesn’t seem to dry the slimy trails running down my cheeks in utter panic.
I don’t usually ask for anything from our ship of readers, but a whispered “feel better Henry” will go a long way at this stage.
Thank you, and love to you and yours. With a bit of magic… a “Henry feels better” post will shortly follow.
I consider Halloween to be extra special for many reasons. This year, I walked three miles to work (since Sandy ate the subway), three miles back… and then I had to take Henry to the vet again. Settling into another country hasn’t been a simple task for my poor little baby.
I know the feeling.
So I came home a bit glum that this Halloween wasn’t quite holding a candle to my last three… when something completely surreal dawned on me.
Trick or treaters. Continue reading
Yesterday Timothy, myself and two small creatures wandered across the Queensborough Bridge. That’s right blog tribe, the puppies totally did Manhattan.
As suspected, they were very pleased to wander through Turtle Bay to the delight of Henry and Lily dancing for pats all the way. Manhattan residents don’t try to look tough like Queens locals. They’re more than happy to praise adorableness.
The puppies were stopped by two new friends before we even crossed a single avenue. So we decided to take them to Central Park.
Central Park up around 110 Street on a Monday might be someplace for the babies to explore. Dead-guts-center visiting of Central Park, near the zoo, as autumn colors crawl to bloom and peepers come out for Saturday strolls… not so much.
To be honest, children and tourists were not the greatest predator of the park. Nor were horses pulling carriages or yappy yuppy dogs being carried by mumsie – oh no.
Squirrels. Squirrels, I have come to learn, are the puppies archnemesis. There are no squirrels in Australia, my friends. I have gotten many-a-hoot from observing my Aussie travel companions snap shots of bushy tailed rats. While I’ve never had any personal beef with squirrels, I don’t think I’ve ever taken a photo of one either.
I suppose it’s how some of my Aussie family feels about Kookaburras. Alas, I digress.
The puppies hate squirrels. They want to eat them. I believe it has something to do with their history of rat catching. Not with me, I mean like bloodline stuff. Although Henry did catch a rat once when I was living in Queensland. It ran out of some rubbish left over from renovations… gross.
In closing, the puppies love New York City. Check. I’m going to go back to working on a book. Hopefully I can trade it for a check to buy a farmhouse. Then the puppies can have a yard to catch all the squirrels they want.
My novel needs conflict. I’ve been reading through thousands of words of characters and places and smells, sights and sounds. But there isn’t quite enough “I’m so torn over this, this and this” that a page-turner requires.
I’m working on it.
While I was pedaling the puppies around at 5.30 this morning. It occurred to me that I’m probably more catering to the needs of my domestic creatures than a lot of humans. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no Dog Whisperer. In fact, Henry nearly ate the leg off a stray cat the other day as I dove between them. Squirrels, cats and small furry things seem like a special treat to bring back home when you’re a Terrier.
Aside from needing some type of basic training for a happy life, dogs need heaps more than that. Like exercise, decent food, pats… that sort of stuff.
I’ve started to note some chapters for a dog book and lit up to when a sister scribe stopped in to share similar thoughts.
I bought and Accounting text book online and have started flipping pages. Considering that I work a lot with converting numbers into words, I figure anything to help me speak balance sheet is useful. So my brain is happy at the moment. We all know how I love 8,000 projects at once.
I think novel, dog book with a side of mathematics will keep me focussed for a few minutes.
Back to conflict.