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Jan. 31st, 2011 10:04 amBut for the grace and good nature of my friends, this past weekend really, really sucked.
I slept terribly Friday night. I wrenched something in my right foot during the day on friday and thus it has made it painful to walk most of the weekend. I launched out of bed two hours early due to screwed up time functions on my iPod on Saturday. I fought like crap and my thighs and stomach bear the multi-hued evidence of how not to fight pole arm in a bear pit. I got the yarn that was asked for by a friend, but I have no idea if it's the right weight because the vendor didn't have any of the specific patterns left. I sat through court and got my beautiful quilt, only to get up to my hotel room and discover a message that I had to call home.
HorseChaser had to tell me that they had to put BruNO down that day. He was in failing health, but something had gone horribly, horribly wrong. They got him to the vet only to find out he'd suffered something like bloat, a tragic and highly fatal condition where his stomach had inverted. Even if he was a young healthy dog, there would have been nothing they could do.
He is buried up on the hill, tucked into the turf in with his kong.
Sunday I woke up, having gotten the half-sleep of hotels, and moved out to go to Mistress Caitlin's funeral. It was beautiful and touching, and the power of the speakers moved us to tears. The beauty of a life, distilled.
On the way out of the service, after many hugs, I got a voice mail from Illustrator, who was watching Mr B this weekend. He'd been a little under the weather, but he'd gone even further down the scale of sick, and she was a little worried about dehydration. He has an app't to see the vet at 3: 30 this afternoon.
I climbed into bed last night, with a growing headache and just so happy to be in my own bed, but still keeping one ear open in case Mr B needed to dash for the door. I was just finally getting warm when I heard my phone pealing downstairs.
At 11:30pm I was dashing to the phone, only to find out that one of the horses, Old Pat, (who was also in failing health,) had tossed her head up and clipped her head on a beam in the barn, cracking her skull. Doc Delany was on his way out to put her down. I talked to mom for a long time, and tried to sleep. No such luck.
I'm done.
Honestly and really.
I'm done.
I slept terribly Friday night. I wrenched something in my right foot during the day on friday and thus it has made it painful to walk most of the weekend. I launched out of bed two hours early due to screwed up time functions on my iPod on Saturday. I fought like crap and my thighs and stomach bear the multi-hued evidence of how not to fight pole arm in a bear pit. I got the yarn that was asked for by a friend, but I have no idea if it's the right weight because the vendor didn't have any of the specific patterns left. I sat through court and got my beautiful quilt, only to get up to my hotel room and discover a message that I had to call home.
HorseChaser had to tell me that they had to put BruNO down that day. He was in failing health, but something had gone horribly, horribly wrong. They got him to the vet only to find out he'd suffered something like bloat, a tragic and highly fatal condition where his stomach had inverted. Even if he was a young healthy dog, there would have been nothing they could do.
He is buried up on the hill, tucked into the turf in with his kong.
Sunday I woke up, having gotten the half-sleep of hotels, and moved out to go to Mistress Caitlin's funeral. It was beautiful and touching, and the power of the speakers moved us to tears. The beauty of a life, distilled.
On the way out of the service, after many hugs, I got a voice mail from Illustrator, who was watching Mr B this weekend. He'd been a little under the weather, but he'd gone even further down the scale of sick, and she was a little worried about dehydration. He has an app't to see the vet at 3: 30 this afternoon.
I climbed into bed last night, with a growing headache and just so happy to be in my own bed, but still keeping one ear open in case Mr B needed to dash for the door. I was just finally getting warm when I heard my phone pealing downstairs.
At 11:30pm I was dashing to the phone, only to find out that one of the horses, Old Pat, (who was also in failing health,) had tossed her head up and clipped her head on a beam in the barn, cracking her skull. Doc Delany was on his way out to put her down. I talked to mom for a long time, and tried to sleep. No such luck.
I'm done.
Honestly and really.
I'm done.
