A Pre-Fall Report

Have you ever noticed that most of my little blog posts start with either "nothing much going on here" or "wild times over here!" Funny what our brains perceive.

Let's start with Brett's newest hobby. He still goes out surfing in the early mornings - if no one can go with him, I tear myself out of bed and plop into the sand and pretend to read while I closely monitor him from the shore. I don't like folks playing in the water by themselves, especially if you're going to keep slipping and sliding around on a board that might knock you in the head. 
Oh but there is something more dangerous and exciting; hydrofoilng. It's all the fun of surfing but with more things to hold onto and heavier, sharper equipment to split your head open with. He loves it, and I love that he loves it. He does however, come home with a new injury each time he goes and voluntarily went out and purchased a helmet to wear during his excursions. That tells you everything you need to know. Luckily the hydrofoiling is a two man-operation until he gets to being skilled at the endeavor, so I get to act like a cool and indifferent wife when he goes out foiling with friends who will surely do their best to save his life. 

Here he is with our good buddy, George, who got Brett into the aqua sport. On this night George arrived with a milkshake for Brett to drink while they discussed hydro-strategy. I thought it was awfully cute.

We've been soaking up the last of the hot summer days because it's dropped down into the 80's and to us that feels like Fall weather. Pippa has finally been diagnosed with a bowel disease (fun) which is a relief because the poor little squirt is always sick. Now we know how to patch her up and get her back to being a wild-hearted pup. I hosted another Food Lion protest (we've never had a company hold out this long) whereupon someone gave me the finger as they drove by and another told me what I could do with my sign. I don't know why it amuses me so, but it does. The rest of my group finds it sad, so I have to withhold my enjoyment.

Papa Clint and his band played a big show under the Ravenel a couple weekends ago (delightful weather) during which time Mom and I were approached by an 84 year-old man who looked at each of us and then said, "So what do you think?" as though he was a real catch. Mom and I exchanged glances and then she threw me under the bus to go dance with him. Luckily, Clint's song ended and the band took a break in the knick of time, so I spent the rest of the night hiding from that man. 

We had a 10 day stretch with houseguest Erik squatting at our place while his house was rented out for what was going to be his trip to Europe, but his friend over there got a job and subsequently wouldn't have time to play with Erik. So Erik bagged the trip but kept the rental income, and stayed at our place. Erik is a highly unobtrusive house guest. He is easy to entertain because he's happy to just sit wherever there are other humans. If he's not interested in what you're doing, he'll still sit with you but will do his own thing nearby. He carries around a grocery bag of snacks so you never really have to feed him either. He left for a few nights to visit a buddy in NC, and had a few work shifts, so he was in and out in an inconspicuous way.

He was here one night when we hosted the whole Eisenhauer clan. We made the four little boys eat outside -mostly because we didn't have enough space at the table - so they stayed outside and wreaked havoc on our yard for most of the visit. Occasionally one would come inside "to poop" and then go back out again. They all pooped shortly after dinner in-between shoving scuppernongs into August's underwear and balancing on the pieces of board left in the marsh while Brett rebuilds our dock stairs. So they smelled like poop and pluff mud and sweat. Then Jeff made them hug me and Brett goodbye and shake Erik's hand even though all of us insisted it wasn't necessary. They weren't even all the way out the front door when Erik was at the kitchen sink with soap up to his elbows while I was actively gagging while wishing them farewell. Brett looked at the two of us and simply shook his head. 

Also during Erik's visit, we captured two of my stray cats and had them neutered. (It was a big ordeal.) But they had to stay in the guest bathroom to recover, so Erik had to use toilet paper with stray kitty paw prints on it, and shower next to dried flecks of tuna that the cats dispersed around the bathroom in an attempt to escape.

Highly focused poker night for the fellas.

Additionally, I had to have to blood drawn during all of this, and Brett was planning to come along because I come from a long line of squeamish people and sometimes this particular activity makes me woozy. Alas, the night before, Brett found out he had to be in North Charleston at the same time as my appointment, but I thought to myself, "Ah, I'll be fine. I'll just go on my own." 
Then some other part of my brain texted Mom to see if she was free. "Sure thing." So despite being thirty-five years old, my mom drove me to my blood draw... where I promptly passed out and had to be revived by a very nice phlebotomist and some damp paper towels. It was because they took three vials of it and I wasn't expecting that, so each time I became more and more offput. Then I got real hot. I must have had some visual symptoms as well because the phlebotomist looked at me and calmly muttered, "Oh no." Then I saw dark spots. "Can I get some help in here!" they yelled. I remember worrying that the yelling would scare Mom, but then I got real drowsy and took a nap. In the chaos of it I heard Mom's voice say, "I'm her mother, can I go back there with her?" and at some point I opened my eyes to Mom's smiling face while she told the phlebotomist that "her father passed out watching his dog get a vaccine. She comes from a long line of weenies." It seemed to take ages to pull me back out of it again. We shuffled me back to the car and then Mom took us to a breakfast joint for something sugary. I sat in the car feeling very sleepy and frankly, glad I passed out to make all of it worth mom's time.

Cliques, Cuddles, and Cancer

It turns out that the day-to-day goings-on inside of an animal shelter is golden fodder for storytelling. The place is nuts. It's dramatic, hilarious, disgusting, and heart-meltingly sweet. The collection of humans that choose to work in such an environment vary in states of consciousness from barely finished high-school to veterinary PhD. There's a class system at the shelter, which strikes me as very amusing, what with all of us equally speckled with poop and bruises. Just like in high-school, I belong in no group. I'm too cheerful and healthy for those on the "low" end and too cheerful and simple for those on the "high." So I drift around, being of amusement to all and known by none. In that sense, I've found my place. If it posed no risk, I'd describe the groups of people - how they determine who is like them and what activities are the result of such belonging. It's a riot... but I wouldn't want HR to see my published observations. Instead, I can tell you about the animals (also a class system; ranging from pit-bull to golden-doodle) and the endless antics they create for themselves in a day.

For instance, Bowser and Peaches, a bonded pair with a collective weight of 185 pounds had a twinkle in their eyes when I took them out to the yard. Bowser is a Mastiff/ Great Dane mix, so when he stands on his hind legs, he's taller than me. Peaches is just a big mutt - she's about my size when she stands up. So I let them out one day, and as I headed back to the door, Bowser got the bright idea to stand up and shove me over to Peaches who was already standing up, ready to catch me. She then put her paws on my shoulders and pushed me back over to Bowser. They did this back a forth just twice before I made a bee-line for the door, but they beat me to it. Bowser stood in front of it and hurled me back into Peaches arms. Peach sent me sideways, let me scramble a few feet away and then intercepted me and tossed me to Bowser. I tried to think of an escape plan while they played ping pong with my body. It went on for a full minute, which is a long time to fight to stay upright with what are effectively peers of my weightclass. They weren't trying to hurt me so I wasn't scared, but I was concerned about how to get out of it. I knew if I fell down they might wind up hurting me by accident. I was just preparing to climb the chain link fence when I broke away and threw myself through the gate. I was completely winded and seeing dark spots as I stood in the doorway recovering from what is undoubtedly the most physical wrestling match I've ever been apart of. 

I didn't find it funny until a half hour later. I told my manager about it and she said, "Oh," like she'd just remembered, "Yeah they do that to new people." and then she just went on back to her work.

(Brett's first volunteer day with Theo.)

It also turns out that being understaffed is fairly common, so when my trainer and I wound up being the only two working a 10 hour shift again this week, I called Brett and convinced him to come "volunteer." This had a twofold outcome; we had an extra set of hands, but best of all, Brett got to meet the pups I've been telling him about. He loves to hear what the dogs are up to each day, so he was pretty excited to have wet noses to match up to the stories. (On that day he fell in love with three dogs in particular; Ralph, Tinky, and the undesirably named, Princess.) (He has since come back to actually volunteer, and then fell in love with Roxy and Ian.) (It's very satisfying to watch.) The point is, now I come home from a long shift and say, "Guess what Earl did today?" and Brett will go "Oh gosh..." because he knows all about Earl. Then I'll tell him what Earl did and he'll say, "Well what did Sully and Blu do about it?" because he knows that Sully and Blu are on either side of Earl's kennel. It's tons of fun. 

(Brett's newest love, Roxy.)

At risk of the blog becoming an animal shelter report, I'll just tell you that we had some puppies come in with scabies and mange, a mama and puppy come with kennel cough, and a handful of cats come in with ringworm. In such cases, each ailment gets it's own quarantine, and depending on the spreadability of the condition, we have to "gown up" or "scrub in" before going to tend to those critters. So when I looked in the mirror one morning on a day off and noticed a reddish-brown smudged circle on the end of my nose, I worried I had contracted something gross. The smudge was not there the night before and I hadn't noticed it when I woke up, but I didn't really look in the mirror either. Had it shown up overnight or within the last two hours? I studied the spot in the mirror and then set out Googling what it could be.

It wasn't scabies or mange - thank goodness. I wonder if it's cancerous? I took to an image search of cancerous smudges that aren't moles. Nothing looked quite like it, but maybe kind of close? I should probably go to a dermatologist, especially with how rapidly it appeared. I hated that it was on the end of my nose. It was so loud and obvious. I realized I don't own any foundation or flesh-colored goop to hide things under, nor would know how to use it effectively. 

(Brett's least favorite animal, the perpetually happy Ferguson.)

Oh man, do you think it's ringworm? I hesitated to Google image ringworm. I didn't want to see it or have it be true. Would they have to slice worms out of my nose? Don't you poop out ringworm? How does that work? What will my nose look like in the end? I Googled it, and it wasn't a perfect match, but it wasn't totally off. I got that hot feeling you get when something has quietly gone awry and you're the only one that knows about it. It seemed too small to be ringworm... I went back to the cancer idea, did some more Googling and then set out looking for a dermatologist with walk-in availability. (It doesn't exist. You have to wait three months like everyone else being ravaged by cancer.) 

I grabbed a small mirror from a box of forgotten toiletries I keep under the bathroom sink, and went over to the window to study my downfall in the daylight. It looked more orange out here than in the dark bathroom. Kind of a caramel color. I touched it to see if it hurt... no feeling at all. Is it smooth or bumpy? I ran my finger across it, and it wiped right off. 

It left no trace, not on my nose or my finger. It then took less than ten seconds to connect the smudge to the foam from a cappuccino Brett had surprised me with an hour before. I laughed out loud at myself, rolled my eyes at myself, and then ran off to tell Brett what a bumpkin he'd married. He also rolled his eyes and laughed, and in the moment I had endeared myself to both of us. What a hopeless little doofus. 

(Brett's first, truest, and deepest love, Grace.) 

(Pictured here with secondary caretaker and wife.)