Monday, November 26, 2007

a detail of my front door wreath

the boy is downstairs barking at me, his please put the cat food dishes down on the floor for me bark (the cats eat on a raised table in the laundry room- this is so they can eat and not have all their food snarfed down by a big ol' retriever), the bark which is very distinct from his I need to go out bark. It's much more rapid, short, sharp little barks in his new senior dog gravely, much deeper voice. These barks are urgent and demanding. One of Jake's favourite things is to lick and clean those little plates around the kitchen floor so there isn't a speck of cat food left on them - it's pretty much part of our morning routine. I give in, it thrills him, hey I just live here, they (cats - Lulu, Bleet, Oliver & Gus and dogs - Jake & Winnie) run the show.

He's still battling the runs and if he wasn't so much his normal kooky, crazy, energetic, starvin', front paws up on the counter to see what he can steal self, I think I would be more concerned and making a vet appointment. My sister told me yesterday on the phone that when Michael was a baby he once had diarrhea for 11 days, she even took a sample in and there was nothing they could find wrong ... it just eventually passed. So for now we'll continue with a diet of squash, rice and yogurt, more pepto bismal-peanut butter bread bites and no extra treats (no last bites of buttered bagel smeared with soft boiled egg and no sharing clementines) until we get this under control.

Monday morning, yet another chance to impress myself with a fantastically productive & perfect-in-every-way week - that's the goal ... that always seems to be the goal ... perfection. My eternal quest

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