Fly

I was photographing this charming bird... and then it flew away. 

At me. 

Eeeeeek 

I still managed an interesting picture, though!

Lovely Agave

Trope

Herself speaks.

I've been trying to find something mildly entertaining on Netflix to pass the time while using the elliptical trainer at the gym. Recently I selected a movie, and though it was indeed mildly entertaining, it contained a trope that I find extremely problematic: that of the young woman who willingly participates in a mutually desired sexual encounter -- who then promptly dies/is abducted by aliens/eaten by a bear/otherwise meets a grisly and untimely demise. (To be fair, the young man sometimes perishes as well. Still, I'm more concerned with the prevalence of young women who meet this fate.)

Can we not do this any more? Please?

Let's just let young women enjoy sex without suggesting that the price for doing so is death.

Let's just let everyone enjoy sex.

Let's just mind our own business and pay no heed to the carnal activities of consenting adults. It is none of our business, anyway.

::: stepping off soapbox :::

Illustration from another trope: Death and the Maiden, found here:

https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DeathAndTheMaiden

Thestrals

Herself speaks.

Yesterday, the pet bunny of Offspring the First and her husband -- an aged and infirm lagomorph -- went to meet his Maker. Alas.

As I thought about Offspring the First and her bunny, I also thought about the Harry Potter books and about the thestrals. Only those who have "seen death" can see the thestrals. What does it mean, to see death? Does it mean, to see a dead body? To watch as someone's life force expires? Must it be violent, or can it be a natural death? Can it be a pet or an animal, or must it be a human being? So many questions.

We see so little death now, compared to days of yore. It's important not to be frightened of that end-of-life point: sometimes, the best we can do for someone -- especially a beloved pet -- is to be with them, and witness them as they Cross Over. It changes the heart (though not in a bad way). Perhaps it really does help us to see things a bit differently.

Godspeed, Milo, and thank you for your time with us.

Fractious

Herself speaks.

Yesterday, I took Tiny Dog to our regular veterinarian to follow up on this weekend's event. As we sat in the waiting room, I took the opportunity to read the report from the emergency vet. The most humorous part was the line that read: "Patient fractious: did not examine mouth." Hee. There was a teeny muzzle involved, no doubt.

The most alarming part, though, was the note that her heart murmur is now grade VI of VI. That is bad news.

Two and a half years ago, we learned that Tiny Dog has dilated cardiomyopathy. At that time, it seemed that the disease was advancing quickly, given the rapid increase of her heart murmur. We thought we had a year -- perhaps two -- left with Tiny Dog. She has been doing so well, though, that I had forgotten that the days were numbered. We have been on borrowed time. Oh, no.

The good news is, she does not yet show signs of congestive heart failure. She has no fluid buildup,  not much cough. She is slowing down, though, and her breathing rate, even at rest, is twice that of New Old Dog. Alas.

I have taken to carrying her around as much as possible. She seems to enjoy it, and I derive comfort from knowing she is content.

I do not like this uncertainty.  Days? Weeks? Months? A year yet? We do not know.

We will do the best we can for you, Tiny Dog. We love you very much.

Small Fry

Herself speaks.

In the wee hours of the morning yesterday (circa 4 AM), Tiny Dog had a seizure. She was in the bed between me and Beloved Husband, and we both started awake, knowing that something was Very Wrong Indeed. The seizure only lasted a minute or so, even though it seemed like eons. Once it had stopped and Tiny Dog seemed to be recovering, I put on my clothes and rushed her to the emergency vet that is mercifully very near to the house. They examined her, and her vitals were stable and strong, so we opted at that time not to take any further action. 

It isn't clear whether it was an actual seizure, or "convulsive syncope" related to her heart murmur/heart condition. The emergency vet felt it was the latter. We'll go to our regular vet as soon as possible and have her evaluated again; I expect that they will concur with the emergency vet. My research tells me that Tiny Dog might be entering the next phase of congestive heart failure, which we were expecting eventually, given her prominent heart murmur. I hope that there will be additional medicines that will help her continue to live as full a life as possible. She is nine and a half -- no longer young in dog years, but not yet so old. We will see what we can do. 

My tiny baby dog. I am hesitant to leave the house to run errands, afraid that I will come back and find naught but a cold lifeless body. She is a strong little creature, though, and seems to have bounced back well. She slept well last night and ate a good breakfast this morning. She is in my lap or otherwise snuggled up against me. We are both happy with that. Who could ask for anything more than these moments? 

A Little Outdoor Scrabble

Tiny Toys

Behold, the Tiny Toys of my youth. I loved these little wooden building blocks and animals and trees. They were so soothing on the eyes, so satisfactory to hold and to arrange. And they had the most excellent, faint aroma of varnished wood. 

I thought they had been lost, but it turns out that my parents kept them over the years. As they have downsized their possessions, they have divested themselves of some of these Items of Yore, and huzzah! The Tiny Toys have become mine. I could not be more delighted. 

Monsters

Years ago, I posted about my Questionable Musical Tastes, To Some, in which I wrote about my enjoyment of James Blunt's music. That enjoyment has not changed over nearly a decade now. One of his latest releases, Monsters, is a lovely tribute -- perhaps even a paean -- to his father. It's particularly poignant for those of us who have aging parents.

Time is fleeting. How did we get so aged? I don't feel old.

No need to forgive, no need to forget
I know your mistakes and you know mine
And while you're sleeping, I'll try to make you proud
So daddy, won't you just close your eyes?
Don't be afraid, it's my turn
To chase the monsters away

I hope you enjoy.

Monkey Business

Delight

Delight is having some pleasant conversation with a friend. And having a friend with whom to have pleasant conversation. 

Photograph from some strange fairy tale-related theme park,

a thousand years ago. 

Nice

There's something on the imminent horizon which -- while it will likely be for a short while -- will nevertheless be a very pleasant state of affairs. I'm a little bit at a loss as to how to contemplate it:  it's one of those things about which I have periodically thought, wouldn't that be nice, and then given it no more mental space because it was rather unlikely. Also, I did not spend time pondering it, because we all know what happens when I begin to look forward to things: things never go as hoped. So I had left this idea squarely in the hazy realm of improbable, though likely to be good.

Yet now look: here it is, apparently about to come to pass. I daren't feel happy about it, lest I draw the ire of the Universe. Still, it has potential to be enjoyable.

I shall say no more now. We shall see how things unfold.

Cinnamon Bird

This is the first time I have seen a pigeon this color.  Nifty! And camouflaged.  

So Low, So High

We took Tiny Dog back to the vet to re-check her thyroid levels, as we suspected they were not right. And sure enough: they were unnervingly high.

I am not sure what to make of it -- she clearly had low thyroid previously, complete with multiple symptoms/side effects of hypothyroidism. She stabilized with meds. But now, she is seriously hyperthyroid. We have stopped the pills entirely and will re-check her levels in a few more weeks. Let us hope they are normal then.

My concern now: there is an underlying problem, such as a thyroid tumor, that might be causing/contributing to her issues. Let us hope not. We shall see.

Poor Tiny Dog. The only time she seems content is in the dog carrier. Bless her. 

I will do the best I can for you, my tiny fur friend. 

Sparkly Cowboy Cover

Tonight's earworm: Orville Peck's rendition of I Will Always Love You.

Lovely.

I hope you enjoy.

Full-on Bananas

Herself speaks.

Both small dogs continue to ail somewhat. We're not entirely sure what is going on with them -- New Old Dog has poor appetite, and Tiny Dog is weird about food and otherwise behaviorally also just a bit 'off'.  We'll go to the vet's later this week and see if there's anything new that appears on examination.

Tiny Dog has been especially clingy. While I do sometimes tuck her into my fleece jacket, that's not particularly comfortable for me, and it prevents me from accomplishing things since I must use one hand to make sure she doesn't slip out of the bottom. And so, in desperation, I got a dog carrier.

I know, I know. That's five-alarm-crazy-dog-lady.

But she is really happy in there. And I have use of both hands.

So be it.

Gato

Offspring the Third has adopted a young one-eyed kitty. She was a stray. He has taken her in and named her after a Harry Potter character. Bless him -- so tender-hearted, he has fallen in love with a needy and slightly defective critter, and made her his own.

I hope for a long and fruitful relationship between them.

Pocket Dog

A Sushi Evening

A Dusting in the Desert

A wee bit of snow. With Tiny Dog for scale.

New Mantra

A lesson I am learning to take to heart:

You cannot have

What you want from others - 

You can only have

What they are able

And willing

To give.

And so, the mantra:

I do not want what I cannot have.

Copyright 2020 Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

On My Own

Today's earworm: On My Own (from the movie, Fame). 

What a lovely ballad.

I hope you enjoy.

Overthinking

Herself speaks.

I fell into overthinking today.

There is a particular sore spot I have in my personal history. This Thing is not something I have done (or not done); rather, it is an unjust perception of a particular aspect of my character. It has haunted me on occasion, beginning in college with rumors here and there among a few people I knew who spoke among themselves, not to me but about me. It lay dormant during my many years of telecommuting, when I did not interact with other people in person terribly often -- it was so quiet I thought it was gone. But no. it reared its head again among a new friend group I finally found here in my desert land (I wrote about that briefly here).  I had a flashback today, triggered by a chance encounter -- that was completely innocuous and pleasant -- with a lovely woman who was a tangential part of that friend group. And then I went and fell into wondering what people think about me, and whether it matters, and most importantly, are there other people whom I need to protect from being tainted by what people think about me? So far down the rabbit hole.

I just want to cry.

I don't want to write or talk about this Thing. But I do. Well, no, I don't. I really just want someone to tell me that I am fine, that they understand why my feelings are hurt and why this Thing sometimes still bothers me, that rumors are stupid and bred from jealousy and bitterness. That those who truly know me, know my heart, and that it doesn't matter what other people falsely believe.

I cannot ask someone else to help me to understand and modulate these particular feelings. Nor am I sure I can express why this Thing weighs so heavily on my heart. The words to describe the Thing may be too painful to put out into the world. I'll just sit with the Thing when it howls, and hope that it goes back to sleep.

I'll turn to John O'Donohue, since his words always do seem to help.

From For Loneliness (from To Bless The Space Between Us). 

.....
When the music of talk
Breaks apart into noise
And you hear your heart louden
While the voices around you
Slow down to leaden echoes
Turning the silence 
Into something stony and cold,

When the old ghosts come back
To feed on everywhere you felt sure,
Do not strengthen their hunger
By choosing to fear;
Rather, decide to call on your heart
That it may grow clear and free
To welcome home your emptiness
That it may cleanse you
Like the clearest air
You could ever breathe.
.....

Current mood.

There Must Be A Story Behind This

Walkies