Over the weekend, I saw Suzanne stretching out a cornucopia of clothing items on the kitchen island. With her sewing, crafting, and whatever-ing relentlessly happening around the house, I notice not-ordinary things like that all the time. I don’t always ask about them. Sometimes I treat whatever’s going on like a game– to see if I can figure out the activity’s result. Sometimes I want to know what’s going on, and sometimes I’m sure I don’t. I simply use my powers of observation most of the time.
And so I did, with Suzanne’s clothing on the kitchen island. I heard a buzzing noise, looked over, and saw Suzanne shaving her clothing with her battery-powered lint and hair remover gadget. I don’t recall ever owning clothes in need of an occasional shave, but apparently Suzanne has a few outfits whose goal is to attract globules o’ lint. Or she secretly works in a lint factory. I dunno. Fortunately, she doesn’t have to lather shaving cream on her clothing items before she shaves them.
I did, however, have to change my clothes– even my socks– after I returned home from taking Skitter to the vet this morning. I was more of a fur ball than Skitter by the time we were done with her exam and tests. She shook so ferociously during the appointment it was as if she was ejecting each hair on her body at me, one at a time– like a firing squad of arrows from Tie o’ the Day’s Cupids. Like it’s MY fault she’s got a bladder infection. (We think that’ll be her diagnosis. We expect her test results tomorrow.)
I was surprised to discover Skitter’s solo photo here isn’t a blur of fur. I guess I caught her in mid-quake. Even as she sat there on the exam table, her eyes begged me to get her out of there. I heard her thinking, “If you really loved me, you’d help me escape. Please, please, please. You rescued me once before.” I think I heard her soul howl at me telepathically.
I felt bad about things from the minute I woke up this morning, because I knew what was ahead for Skitter. She naively dressed up in her red flannel Bow Tie o’ the Day for an undisclosed outing with me. She had no clue the destination would be the Parrish Creek Veterinary Clinic. Some things you just shouldn’t tell your dog until you absolutely have to. As we exited the car at the clinic, I was already apologizing to The Skit for the inevitable rectal thermometer, and for whatever the dog urine extractor is called.
But as I type this post, Skitter is sitting beside me at the other end of the loveseat. She has already forgiven me. How do I know? Because she is completely buried under three Suzanne-made blankets– except she has stretched out one of her front legs in my direction, such that her paw is touching my leg. I’d love to snap a pic of Skitter’s precious paw on my thigh to show you, but if I move to pick up my phone, it will startle her. And then there goes the photo op. I’m just going to sit here and enjoy watching it until she moves it.
Blessings are sometimes no bigger than a dog’s paw on your leg. I hope you notice your tiny blessings. They surround you. Just look.
