My doggie is in pain. She got her rabies and distemper shots on Monday, and sometime by Tuesday when I got home from work she was very lethargic, which I assumed was normal because of her shots. (The little dog also got his, but he was bouncing off of walls as usual.) However, Steve noticed that she was favoring one paw, and not putting any weight on her front legs. I called the vet, they said to bring her in this morning, which I did. Turns out, it has nothing to do with the shots -- she must have run into something or twisted her leg really hard in the interim, and she's got a problem with the inside of her shoulder on one leg. No fracture or breakage or anything, just painful. So he gave me some pain medication for her and sent us on our way. It breaks my heart to see her this way, because she's usually very bouncy and boisterous.
I feel like taking some of her pain medication, because about a half hour before I was done at work, I spilled a fresh cup of scalding hot water all over my left hand. I ran in the back, threw my hand under the cold water while sobbing, slapped some burn cream on it (thanks Marla!) and put a glove over it so I could finish my shift, but let me tell you something -- after all the times I've burned myself there, you'd think my calloused skin would get used to it. This hurts more than anything has ever physically hurt me before. That includes when my cousin tore all of the cartilage surrounding my knee when I was eight and I had to be on crutches for eight weeks. That includes the chunk of skin that was torn off of my back when I fell off my bike in the middle of the road. It includes the four or five other times I've gotten burned at work, and the time the grill exploded in my garage and I singed my arm hair. I have no idea what temperature our hot water is at work, but after people made fun of that old lady that burned herself on the McDonald's coffee, I'm not afraid to say I feel sorry for her, even if she was being stupid. Ouch. OUCH, ouch, ouch. Steve's going to come home from work and my dog and I are going to be laying on the floor, totally high on doggie Oxy or something, commiserating in our searing pain. Good dog. Goooooddddooog....g...g....zzzzz...z.z.z.
This is the world's worst segue (or not!) but I just finished reading the book "Disappointment with God" by Philip Yancey. It was a recommended book from our church for the last series we had, and I'm glad I picked it up. So many times, books on this subject are trite, almost like reading a fairy tale: "Yes, things are bad now, but someday it'll be alllll better and you'll live happily ever after! Hooray!" This one was not like that. I have read Philip Yancey before and appreciate his writing style and his thoroughness, his attention to detail. He also weaves everything around a central story, in this case the story of his friend Richard who had lost his faith. I also like that it doesn't end with "...and Richard and Jesus became best friends, The End". It's a realistic point of view on faith, hardship, and the silence of God at difficult points in life.
Why did I choose the day the flesh on my hand is falling off to write a blog?
I'm looking forward to the rollerderby meeting tomorrow night. We'll be taking a basic skills test. I drove around looking for skates yesterday, but only found one pair new that I kind of liked, and one pair used that I loved, but it was a Men's size 10, which would be juuuuuust a little too big for my Women's size 9 feet. I suppose I could've stuffed a couple of socks in them, but... I want the perfect skates. This is something I'm really looking forward to. Taking out my aggression, venting on wheels -- I could become a whole new person. It's like Fight Club, but with chicks, and while moving.
Doobie can sense when I attempt to pet Nikita, even if he's asleep three rooms away. She just slowly limped up to me for some love, and the moment my scalded hand slipped over her fur, he came running from the sitting room, clicking toenails across the dining room floor, and shoved her out of the way so I could pet him. Which I did not do, because I do not reward selfish behavior, even if dogs don't understand. Now she's looking for a place to lay down again, and it hurts her to get back up :( POOR PUPPY. I can't stand this. (If you see how bad off I am when it's my dog, thank God you're not around when something happens to one of my kids. Zach flew off his bike and got hurt one summer a few years back, and the idiot who called me said, "Mrs. Salisbury? Your son has been in an accident." No further explanation, but I assumed he meant he was dead. My heart started up again when the guy, after the world's longest pause, said... "He's okay, he's pretty scraped up, though." YOU DO NOT BEGIN A SENTENCE WITH "YOUR SON HAS BEEN IN AN ACCIDENT" YOU BEGIN IT WITH, "YOUR SON IS OKAY, BUT HE GOT HURT ON HIS BIKE." Grrrrrr. Where was I? Ah, yes. Close parentheses and move on.)
Okay, this typing thing is getting tedious. I'm going to give myself some heal-time with my doggie. A little self-pity goes a long way in times such as these.
A shout out to my husband for covering my shift alone for an hour or so this morning, as I very inconveniently did not know I was supposed to be in at 6:30am and had a vet appointment at 8:00, and to Taylor F. who covered it with him until I got there at almost 9:00. I greatly appreciate the help!