Respite Care

It has been a great concern to Herself that she is the only one in the family who is trained to give ottoman-shaped dog his insulin shots. She has worried, and felt alternatively oppressed, guilty, annoyed, and dutiful. Faithful good dog Thorbert, a beloved millstone around Herself's neck, requiring her presence at regular intervals no more than 12 hours apart. What could Herself do?

She has at long last found a pet sitter who is comfortable giving Thorbert his insulin. Bonus one: she's a warm and kind woman, and Thorbert prefers the ladies. Bonus two: her name was familiar  because she's the mother of some of Offspring the Third's classmates from grade school.  Herself remembers her from then as being smart, trustworthy and professional.  Excellent.  And Bonus three:  she's a scientist - a woman after Herself's own heart. 

SUCCESS.

Herself is delighted: she is incredibly relieved that respite has been found; that should she need to be away for a day or two, Thorbert's needs can still be met; and that she does not have to strongarm any of the squeamish family members into handling injections for the dog.

It reminds her a tiny bit of Days Of Yore, when the Offspring were nursing infants.  It was stressful to be the sole source of food for a small human being.  What a relief, when they were big and old enough finally to begin cereals and fruits and veggies.  All those tiny jars of organic, minimally processed, painfully wholesome pureed items were carefully arranged in the cabinet, and Herself would look at them fondly, well aware of their marvelous role as supplemental food for the Offspring. She could worry just a little less. It was good.

Comfy, Thorbert? I'm glad.