sistawendy | small mammals

The Puppigrrl's remaining time can probably be measured in weeks, not months, and maybe less. Our vet, with whom Nibs was discussing end-of-life plans, warned Nibs with what I already knew: this is the dog of our lives.

We've had almost fourteen perfect years with her. She's been wonderful with people, and hardly ever destructive. And her attempts at speech, and her tarty puppy pose, and her bounding through the snow, and her nibbling the boy to clean him, and her hilarious squeezing into the corner at bath time, and her tolerance of my ear fixation, and the way she looked into my eyes at bed time. Dawg luv, people. There's nothing like it.

I told Nibs I don't think we should get another one until after I move out. First, the money situation is still bad, and second, having me there and then gone is a mean thing to do to a dog. Nibs proposed fostering as short-term dog methadone. We'll see.

My son has been feeling the sensation of needing to pee quite a bit, but he isn't actually peeing that much. Unsurprisingly for him, he's pretty wigged out about it. I'm hoping he doesn't have reason to be - he's been a frequent pee-er for years - and that it's just more Aspie sensory weirdness. We'll find out when he goes to the doctor on Tuesday.

What have I been doing? Taking a SQL class and not sleeping enough. Tonight? Noc Noc.

ETA: I was quick enough on the draw to get on the list of chaperones for my son's class trip to Vancouver later this spring. Yay!