I’m sitting outside on the porch, because it’s one in the morning, and it’s finally cool out here. According to the thermometer inside, which I think reads low, it’s 94 in the house. Lala’s asleep in the bedroom where the small air-conditioner sings, but I’m not tired. Instead of going to bed, I soaked my clothes in cold water and I sat on the couch in front of the fan and watched the Daily Show (Jon Stewart is my boyfriend. Lala’s boyfriend is Stephen Colbert, and she can have him, all small-eyed and smarter than me. No, I like Jon’s slow appeal. I don’t have to work as hard. Call me lazy). You know, John McCain gets points for going on Jon Stewart’s show more than once. I almost like the him (yes, I have pronoun problems. Again, lazy. You figure them out). You can tell he REALLY wants to say what he really thinks about the administration, but can’t, and won’t. I can respect that.
Digit just came up on the porch. He’s happy it’s cooler now, too. I actually dunked his head in water today, which he hated and then immediately loved.
It’s been interesting, the way he now rules the house. In the condo, he stayed on top of cabinets when Lala’s dogs came over. He was scared. In the new house, he overcame his fears, and now, with the large new addition to our pack called Clara, he has NO fears. Clara chases Adah, yes. Adah doesn’t care much, just jumps on something and demands food. Clara chased Digit once, and there was a dog-ish scream, and some blood, and now Digit controls her just with his eyes. We’ve seen Digit sit just outside the slider in the kitchen – Clara will be dancing, crossing her legs she’s gotta go so bad, but she won’t pass The Eye of the Digit. And good on her. Digit’s got way more claws than most of those pussies out there.
Also this: I was on the couch, lazily watching my boyfriend be funny, my arm draped over my head as one does in heat that makes one want to chew frozen peas, and suddenly I screamed. What WAS that dangling near my head?
Oh, yes. My hand. That I had placed there.
Oh, it’s nice out here in the coolth. The dogs are very dead at my feet. I sure like these dogs. I sat on our godson Dylan tonight (he never woke up), and Lala called to ask what to do in case of a partial obstruction. This is something, as an EMD, I answer quite often. I hate the question, since people panic when they think someone they love is choking, and they don’t listen to you. You can tell it’s a partial obstruction, since you can hear the patient gasping and talking in the background, and you can also hear the sound of pounding. “Don’t hit him on the back!” “What?” “Don’t hit him on the back! It can push it farther in!” Slap, slap, slap, you hear in the background. Urg.
So Lala asks, and I think, how strange. I don’t think anyone is at the house with her, just the cats, and the DOGS!
My heart raced and my stomach fell to my feet. Isn’t it weird what the body does?
Harriet now seems fine – she may have choked on something before we got home since she acted like something was still in her throat, but she could breathe and drink water and jump around and wag. Her throat, when manipulated, doesn’t seem to bother her. We’re watching her, but I think she’s fine.
But the fear! How do parents do it? I checked Dylan’s breathing five times in the two hours I was with him tonight.
I learned this today, too: Dogs can be really gross. I caught Clara rolling in a DIAPER at the beach. I thought it was an empty paper bag. Then I got close. Ew, ew, ew. She is now bathed. But eeeew.
Okay. I’m now officially sleepy, and I’m out of wine. This ole porch swing has been with me through three houses now, and I don’t get enough time just sittin’ in it. This was nice. Off to bed. Goodnight.
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