Yesterday, after I wrote you about what happened with Edsel, I gave myself a big headache, and most of my big-list plans went undone. I DID get all my laundry washed and dried, even the hand-washables, which was no small feat.
There’s Fang and Blu, making a cameo.
I’ve also, these days off, read two books. You know how I am with the reading and all. Or maybe you don’t. Just recently, someone asked me if I read, and I said, “Oh my god, every day.” I read so much that I don’t even mention it, I think.
Also, I can never remember what I’ve just read, and I CERTAINLY in a million years could not tell you the author. I can never understand people who will be all, “After I read Stabbing a Blue Jay by Horace Mendenbottom, I…”
Jesus, really? How do you know the author? I also never ever know the director of any movie. Who cares?
Anyway, since Sunday, I’ve read a book called (oh, god. See? Blank.) um. Called… OH! Mystic Summer. By…someone. Probably a chick. The main character, our protagonist, as it were, is supposed to be in her 20s and it is so obvious the writer was not in her 20s. Our beloved 27-year-old spoke like an age-45 scrapbooker through the whole thing. “I just hope those children have food in their tummies.” Yeah, hey, millennial.
Anyway, even though I predicted the entire plot by page 20, I read the whole thing because I was interested, and that’s usually enough for me.
Then I picked up The Hypnotist’s Love Story by Mygoulash Hexaglass and I.Was.Riveted. I did NOT guess the whole plot. Just some of it.
Now I have a third book waiting for me but it’s still in the bag, with the cat.
I also worked on my freelance stuff and oh! I called the vet. And animal control. On myself.
Sadly, it’s gotten to the point where I know the people at animal control. It’s two women of color who will be pleasant or horrible to you, depending on what you throw at them. Then the world’s nicest guy, the same guy who came over to get that bird years ago.
I told them what happened Monday night, and I asked what would happen to my dog if the people whose dog got attacked called them. They said really, nothing. “It was an accident. Your dog didn’t jump your fence and run down the street attacking or anything.” Which, oh god. Do I need a taller fence? Also, wouldn’t a dog jumping the fence also be an accident?
I also called my vet, because as much as I enjoyed the unsolicited “I had a dog once, He was perfect. Here’s what I would do” advice, I thought, oh, maybe an expert would be good to talk to.
I like my vet. We decided to put Edsel on yet another antidepressant, and he recommended a good trainer not even remotely near me who nevertheless comes to Greensboro a few days a week.
I spoke to her, the trainer, at length. She said Edsel feels like he has to be in control now that Lu is gone, which we all knew, and the secret is to let him know that in fact I am the one in control. Which, hah.
She also said to get a Martingale collar and a Gentle Leader. He already has a Gentle Leader. So.
She’ll be here September 1. She’ll be here for TWO HOURS on September 1. Oy.
Today I’m really, truly going to Chapel Hill to return the coolers they gave me from the headache study I was in last year. They’re huge, and they’ve been taking up a large portion of my side room all this time. I can totally see myself heading off to Chapel Hill without the coolers. That would be so something I would do.
Look how calm and happy I look here. This was pre-attack. Is why.
Okay, I’m off. At 4:00 today, I have to have yet another suspicious mole removed. It’s been hiding behind a newspaper and no one has ever seen it around here before.
Further reports as developments warrant.