07/30/2024
A long Surgery and dogs update:
(Warning: semi-graphic and gross medical stuff follows)
Back surgery is very unfun. Recovery is painful if you choose pooping over narcotics and laxatives. Since I tried the angry lemonade (lemon magnesium citrate) and it has liquefied everything I've eaten since my last colonoscopy. These pipes are clean, no more narcotics, thank you.
The %$ #&@ dogs....
Polar Bear, Pono, Anela, and Rouge all decided that 9:30 PM was a perfect time to hunt an armadillo.
So, they escaped the back yard (which I 100% fortified last summer in the 100+Β° by 10 AM weather) by escaping into the FRONT yard via an unlocked gate (I suspect it was left unlocked by cat... it certainly wasn't me, and she's Shady.)
Anyhoo, into the front yard, through the same hole in the fence the bunnies and apparently armadillos use, and into the woods.
Luckily, I was letting Grace out front and I heard a great commotion that can only be four big dogs out screwing around where they ain't supposed to be, snuffling and sniffing and panting and God knows what else.
I called the pack of goobers, and Anela and Pono came running... dirty and panting and happy as clams. Rouge was by the fence, but... no Polar Bear.
Rouge came to me as I stumbled through the yard, back brace on and wound vac dangling. She showed me how they got out, by squeezing through a rabbit sized hole, then refusing to come back. I could hear Polar Bear still screwing around in the woods with whatever, so I had one option: out the front gate, down the hill, to the edge of the woods to get him.
(He's special. He can fit his ginormous head through a 5" hole to chase an armadillo, but there's NO WAY he can do it to come home.)
So, I went on walkabout. In a back brace. For surgery to fuse my spine I had 5 days ago. Oh. I forgot to mention, no moon tonight. We live in a near-zero % light pollution area. It's well-diggers ass dark. I make it down the hill, to the woods, and out trots Polar Bear, happy to see me and he starts ambling home. I follow, calling for Rouge, who'd gone through the fence but not come back.
I get Melon Head home, and there's Rouge, laying on the porch, drinking out of the cat bowl.
All dogs secure. Likely as not a dead (or scarred sh*tless) armadillo in the woods.
My back is now having all sorts of anger issues, and I'm reevaluating the decision to have functional bowels vs the good drugs.
I think God keeps me around solely for entertainment purposes.