The crazy dog braved the stairs again. I say braved because she’s small and doesn’t like stairs. She also doesn’t like ‘dry tomatoes’, you know the ones that haven’t first been rinsed before they’re given to her (don’t wash and dry them – she won’t eat them, they must still be wet), similarly, or should I say, contrastingly, she can’t stand wet cucumbers, they must be dry cucumbers, or she’ll turn her nose up and refuse point blank to eat them. Even if she’s hungry. I heard my husband telling her the other day, cucumbers are 90-odd percent water! He’d accidentally wet the cucumber instead of the tomato and the dog was peeved.
This morning, the crazy dog braved the stairs again. Then I heard her tiny paws pitter-patter over the landing excitedly, after all she’d achieved her feat. Then she knocked on the door. Really. I think she’s not developed far enough to actually scratch the door with her claws, so the scratch stops at a polite tap, or knock. Normally two or three ‘knocks’, truth be told. Then she pauses, and waits to see if you have been paying attention.
I had been paying attention for about five minutes because before all of that the dog had barked. I’d looked at my watch, it was only 4.52am and I was like, what the fuck? What the fuck was the dog doing in the entrance hall? Headlights had flashed by and awoken her from her blissful sleep and her day had started. And ours. I said, quite calmly considering, to my husband, “Why did you leave the dog sleeping in the front hall?” I may have had a slight waily note in my tone, I can hear it now, as I remember back. I felt him blink repeatedly. Me and my better half are pretty in sync, so stuff like that happens, even in the dark and without glasses on. Then as he answered, I could feel a huge apology on the edge of his tongue, “Was it..? Was it me who came to bed last?” His voice was all uncertain. Oh bugger, nope it was me. I hate the bloody menopause. My brain is like holey cheese. I can’t remember anything any more.
By that time the brave dog had reached the door. Pretty much simultaneously, both hubby and myself noticed our bladders awakening. And as I was the blame bearer, I strode off to the very excited-to-see-me dog, picked her up and carried her back downstairs. I was relegated, naturally, to the downstairs loo. The dog drank a ton of water, having been locked out from her bowl all night, and then of course needed to pee. I opened the door to a horde of birds chattering, which further excited the dog. By the time she re-entered the house, she was in full bounce around mode. Not only had she been a very brave dog and again mastered the stairs, step after scary step, but she’d been greeted by a celebratory choir while doing her first business of the day.
I’m recovering well. But I can’t look at the screen for too long as my eye starts to hurt and then my head starts to hurt. Hence I haven’t got back to you re my eye surgery. I can see, but something is still not right. It might be that they inserted the wrong lens the first time round. It may be something else. I have to wait until my eye is fully recovered to know for sure, which takes six to 12 months. Then it’ll be decided where we go from here. So, still a way to go. They won’t start on the left eye until the right eye is finished and it’s clear I have the same fault on the left eye so there’s a good chance things will go wrong during the cataract surgery then too. But, as long as I wear really strong glasses, I can see stuff again. I can see my beautiful husband, and my beautiful kids and my crazy bouncy dog. I can’t chop onions yet. But I’m heading in the right direction.