I think my mojo is back. It was on vacation in the Bahamas for a while. I let it go alone because I’d much rather go to a crisp, cool, mountain retreat than a sunny, warm beach.
There is so much to do and the desire to do it has returned, but not necessarily the energy. My energy is currently exploring the continent of Antarctica.
Even without the energy, I’m pressing on.
I’m currently dealing with elderly critters. Lily is in the other room growling and barking at her butt. We took her to the vet and had her anal glands expressed, twice in three days. They didn’t get it all the first time. She also has asthma and a trachea problem. Katsu has a bladder infection. I took them to the vet together on Tuesday morning and created a new modern dance. It’s called “dance of a thousand leashes.”
One of the most difficult things I’m doing right now is going through my books and deciding which ones to keep. I love my books. Lyn Meredith said I may be the only person in the world with as many children’s books as she has.
I started this post a few weeks ago, then abandoned it in favor of something else. Mojo has stuck around and I’m getting things done. Not necessarily the things I’m supposed to be doing, but things, anyway.
Energy has returned from Antarctica and the three of us (Me, Mojo, and Energy) are doing just fine.
A little update on the critters: Katsu pees regularly on the floor. He will ask to go out – as he’s peeing. But we took out the carpets years ago, so it’s not a big deal. We just keep a mop handy. I mean, come on, give the old man a break! He’s going to be 19 on August 19th! If you multiply 19 dog years by 7, he’s 133 people years old.
Yes, I know, that’s not the correct way to compute dog years, but, well, he’s just old.
This is the picture that made me fall in love.
Then, there’s Lily. She’s going to be nine on August 12. That’s the day she came to live with us last year. She’s only 63 in people years. She pees on the bed at night. She doesn’t pee anywhere else, just on the bed at night. We had an arm chair next to the bed so she and Pokey could get on the bed easily. But I guess she couldn’t be bothered to wake me up to let her out.
She is now banned from the bed. We moved the chair to the other side of the room. One night I woke up and saw her standing on the chair with her front feet on the arm, looking… Looking at the chair, looking at the bed, and calculating the distance between. She wisely decided she couldn’t make the jump.
Oh yeah, she has a new name now – We call her Piddlelily.
And then, there’s Pokey. Pokey is never a problem. Pokey is the Golden Child, in more ways than one. He’s some kind of a golden terrier, chihuahua, and God-Only-Knows what else. He’s a sweetie. His only real problem is he’s a french kisser.