Who let the dogs out?

Bruce can't stand dogs. He wasn't raised with them and finds them annoying and disgusting. I allow dogs to sleep on my face and eat from the table. They are my friends, my pals and, although they do get needy, I have this internal love for them. They, of course, take advantage of this, just like the kids.

Bruce as my manny is very good about making sure everything has been super clean, and with my white cell count so low last week, we both had to be careful. I brush my teeth five times a day, and even overcook meat and keep all the grands with the colds away from the bed. He yells at the dogs every time thy get anywhere near the door. Maybe it was that last butt wipe dance on the carpet of Maizie's last week that pushed him over the edge...

The dogs know when Bruce is around because they disappear. He doesn't hit them or anything but he dismisses them. So, every morning in the bedroom, they sit outside the door waiting for him to walk downstairs. They listen for the garage door and before he's pulled out of the driveway, both of them jump up at the end of the bed. They each make sure that one of their paws is touching me in some way. I know Bruce is more responsible than I am, but I'm just kind of a complacent about changing everything, even if it means the germs will kill me.

(please just ignore this, Bruce)

Today I just had a regular day. Not a L-ousy day but just my first good day which is exactly two weeks after the chemo. I get it again next Monday and we start the fun all over again.

I did have some good news this morning. I lost 4" around my waist since Friday. It may be really shrinking the Dreadly Mama. So scary to think of the opposite. You know how I knew I had a good day? I went outside in clothes and picked up dog poop. (that sounds like I usually go outside in my underwear to pick up dog poop, but no)

Ah, the simple, beautiful pleasures of being well and alive. I'll take it.