I Love Poopies

I'm 2 doctor visits and 10 days into a lung-rattling, swollen-sinus Crud and the only thing I've learned is that A) it's not the flu, and B) it's not pneumonia.  I can only assume that I have what the internet is calling some form of rare and aggressive ebola.  This may be my last post.

But, what the illness has taken away (tons of work, and I missed taking the kids to the Bow Shoot), it has afforded me loads of puppy time.  And, as Fabian, our ranch hand/backyard dog breeder, always says when we ask him why he has so many litters of puppies, "I love poopies."  Hard to argue that.  Pancho Villa (the puppy, not our ranch hand) and I have bonded over Godless on Netflix (so good), and naps.  And, since I'm doped up on so much NyQuil at night, I've slept through the worst of crate training (sorry, Regina).

Even Boi, Pancho's father, has settled in nicely to ranch life.  He and Lardo do the "Big Loop" every morning and clear the property of vagrants and roustabouts, then make it back to the truck for the morning trip to school.  The rest of their day fluctuates between trampoline time and sunny naps.  It's like they're at a really crappy summer camp with only one activity.

I think the dog therapy is working.  Today, I actually walked outside!  I'm starting to buck up a little and, aside from the prescription drugs, I'm giving all credit to my recovery to the puppy.  Puppy-time is really the best medicine.  And NyQuil.  It's pretty good, too.