Fighting fugdom on Friday
Zaruma is in a fug because the turkeys keep bullying him. Some evenings I have to actually pick him up and put him in the yard for the night. One of his feet is a little damaged from the latest battle with Baby Turkey so I contemplated bringing him into the back veranda to convalesce with Doc (who has kind of rallied – vet tomorrow, Husband and you guys suggest) until Son gave me ‘the look’. ‘The look’ is an expression of incredulity and shock and it is very effective. Needless to say, Doc is in the back verandah and Zaruma is out in the yard, but Son has put the turkeys in with Daffy and Dotty, the Indian Runner ducks, in the adjacent yard. It’s not as complicated as it sounds.
The definition of being ‘in a fug’ is when:
1. you don’t collect the mail from the post office for a week and then you leave it in the car for another week and then you bring it into the house and put it aside unopened for another week because it looks a bit billy
2. the tiniest of tasks seems insurmountable so that it seems a long way down to your feet to put your socks on
3. your mind does 50 laps while your body just hangs around drinking banana milkshakes
4. tomorrow becomes your favourite word
5. you forget to buy your grade 2 kid the left-handed scissors he needs for art class
The first time I was hit badly by fugdom was due to the last thing on the above list. My failure to remember the scissors for the third week in a row compelled Son’s teacher to ask me rather pleadingly to provide them and, mortified, I raced into town and bought the scissors and returned to the school and gave them to the teacher with my face squashed into a pretend smile. Then, driving home, I sobbed so hard about those scissors that I could hardly breathe.
The fugdom is back with a vengeance and there are many logical reasons for this, like anxiety about Husband, about Doc and Zaruma, about Son, who seems to have absorbed some of the fug, but there is also something illogical about it because of the hugely joyful balloon at the bottom of my stomach, waiting patiently.
So tomorrow – yes, tomorrow, Friday – I am going to take all of the mail into the nursing lodge and deal with it in the company of Husband’s moral support and I will not write another post until it is done – that’s my Friday challenge – hehe!
And hopefully, tomorrow, Zaruma will be back to normal!
I think Doc is dying
I posted a picture of Doc the other day. He is the eldest of our two male miniature dachschunds and has now been diagnosed with spinal problems (typical of the breed) and has nearly finished the course of cortisone the vet prescribed. We have had him inside the back veranda for days now and Son has slept with him over the last few nights to keep him all warm and cosy, but today Doc is shivering and listless and has this blank expression in his eyes. He is also a little stiff, very lethargic and just seems miserable. He isn’t whimpering, but I intuit that he is in pain and I’m not sure what to do. I think we need to make a decision.
Any dog advice appreciated. Son and I are going to give him a few more hours of love and then take him back to the vet to put him out of his misery. But what if we are wrong?
Dead or alive?
This picture was taken at Husband’s 75th birthday party 14 months ago. A lot has changed since then, to say the least….
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I hesitate to write this post because I realize it might provoke the ire of some, but, when Husband said yesterday that it would be better for everyone if he died, I caught myself thinking yes and no in the same moment.
Obviously, my no response was the one I went with in order to comfort Husband and, when I saw him later in the day (he had been ambulanced back from the local hospital to the nursing lodge, but I didn’t know this at the time), I reiterated this no.
On the other hand, now that Husband, Son and I have managed to crack the shell of the boiled egg of death, that yes is a tempting thought if only to relieve Husband’s suffering in relation to his recent downhill ‘slide’ into this new phase of Parkinson’s disease.
Euthanasia is a terrifying topic; it is also utterly out of the question for us, but Husband is no longer in the throes of life but in the throes of death. This latter point is not an emotional statement; it is a statement of fact.
The other evening, as I was tucking Husband into bed here at home, I said, “Sometimes, when I can’t wake you up, I think you’re dead.” In reply, he said, drowsily, “That would be a good outcome,” and he actually chuckled. You see, I told you he is a hero!
I am not sure what Husband, Son and I are supposed to wish for anymore….
My bad
‘My bad’ is, I think, a rather weird expression that has been bandied about over the last year or so, and I am never sure if is supposed to be a question, as in, “Am I bad?” or a statement, “This is me being bad and good on me!”
‘My bad’ has probably already been replaced with another popular saying but I hope not because I rather like its ambiguity; on the other hand, maybe I just don’t really get it!
‘My bad’ is today, for me, a combination of question and statement because, in a couple of hours, I have to go back to the hospital to see Husband and I don’t want to … yes, I seem to be getting mybadder by the moment!
I’ve dropped my bundle of empathy somewhere and I’ve forgotten where. I’m not sure how this could have happened and I don’t seem to have the energy or enthusiasm to go and look for it. I would much rather have a nap which is exactly what Husband will be doing right now in the hospital because that’s how the noon drugs affect him.
My bad? This photo is of the ‘good old days’ four years ago now!
And this is Jack, the Irish Terrier I bought for Husband several months ago before the ‘bad’ of Husband’s Parkinson’s got ‘badder’ so now Jack is here and Husband is there and this is definitely not good!
It is hard to believe now that 18 months ago, Husband, Son and I were able to go to a hotel in Perth and have a good time.
My sad….
Determination
When I let the geese and ducks out in the morning, they now head, vociferously, straight to the dogyard. They seem to have it in for the dogs after our so-called harmony day the other day (end results of this are another story).
Look how determined they are on their way to tell the dogs who is boss around here. Godfrey’s head is missing from the photo – sorry about that – hehe! Well he bit my hand tonight and drew blood (another another story!)
Of course the situation is reversed in the evening but I have to say that the dogs aren’t quite as loud.
It looks like they are never going to be compatible and I was silly to try. Oh well – live and learn!
jmgoyder 