"I told them," I emailed ...friend, after giving all y'all all my big news yesterday. I sent him the link, too.
"I don't even read your blog that often and I'm even sad," said ...friend, after looking at yesterday's post. And it IS sad, isn't it? I like the beginnings of things, and I dwell sadly on the end. I've done this for so long I won't even know what to do with myself at first.
"You should take a picture of me NOT eating a salad," ...friend said later that day when we were having dinner. How much are you going to miss my crystal-clear photography? I'm not gonna miss all the queries from people who're into photography. "How do you DO it, June? What camera do you use?" I mean, it's exhausting. I have a gift, okay?
Big pile of fried green tomatoes. God, I love the South.
So I took pictures of us not eating salads ("us." Like I am just MADE of salad.) but then I said, "I have to get used to this. I don't need to document my every move anymore."
"You sure you want to do this?"
"No."
And I'm not. Now that I've heard from so many of you, and you were so nice, and some of you even emailed me personally to tell me how much you read me or times my dumb blog got you through stuff, I feel totally torn. I do.
Lu tore too. Liturlee. We getteeng stittchis out soon?
Look at her little shavey leg, where they put an IV. Get away from my dog. With your needles and your knives and so on. We go in an hour and no more cone for Lu. Truthfully I've had it off her for a few days now. She mostly leaves her injury alone. And who needs to maybe trim that foliage in the back yard?
Geez, Lu. Get on it.
Oh, and at my neverending freelance job, I am down to working noon to 5:30, because the guy who had surgery is back half time, and anyway I said, "Tallulah has a vet appointment at 10:30 but I think I'll still be on time." And they were all, "...the office is closed tomorrow."
It IS? I totally would've shown up to an empty office had Lu not had a vet appointment.
Mom dizapoynt lillee. could be more orrganize?
Geez Louise, is that fur by the door, there, in the Lily picture? I shouldn't take pet shots; it just makes me see stuff that needs to get done around here.
Oh! But I asked if there was anything you wanted me to blog about and you said pet psychic. So okay.
When I lived in LA and had the fabulous cat Mr. Horkheimer,
hooo? you know, lillee fabyouluss too.
(somebody asked about Lily, too. Hence the all-Lily, all-the-time-except-for-when-I'm-showing-fried-green-tomatoesness of this post)
ANYWAY, when I lived in LA and had the wonderful Mr. Horkheimer, he got a mysterious illness. I took him to the vet 17 times and they were like, well, it could be his KIDNEY, it might be his LIVER....
Thanks. In the meantime he's spraying blood and losing weight. So, my friend Karina had a horse, and let me tell you something. No woman who has a horse just, oh, has a horse. Every friend I have who owns a horse can never be found anywhere but with that horse. Horses are to women what golfing is to men. Addictive. Is what I mean.
So Karina told me that some pet psychic came to the stables and read all the horses. She said, "Maybe she can tell you what's going on with Horkie."
See. When you live in LA? After awhile people say stuff like that to you and you just go, "Oh, thanks! Good idea!" Like she'd just recommended a plumber. "Yeah, call this guy to snake your pipes. Oh, and this woman here will give you a past-life aura reading and cleanse your toxins!"
So I did. I called Lydia Hibey, pet psychic. And oh! It was so great! She said often animals come into our lives to teach us something. Not Hork. He was there to be admired and pampered. That was it. "How'm I doing on that?" I asked. "Horkie tells me you're an A+!" she said.
The pet psychic even told me that Hork said he hated it when we lived with "those girls." In Seattle, Hork and I lived in a house with Stacy and Paula, and they had a Sheltie. Do you know from Shelties? They are not what you'd call mellow dogs. And Hork? ABHORRED that creature. Oh. Hated. He'd hide on a dining room chair and swat that animal when it trotted by high-strungly.
Anyway, the pet psychic recommended I get these bovine pills from the store and mix them with turkey baby food, and do you know Horkie improved for about a year before he finally just up and died? So I got an extra year of Mr. Horkheimer. And that is good. Because he was magnificent.
we getteeng kind of sik of heereeng about that cat. currint pets magnifsint too. ..not edsel. but rest of us.
Anyway, that's that story. I'd hate to leave you hanging with any untold story. So let me know if there's anything else you want to hear.
I guess I better shower and get all good-looking for the vet's office. Which means I'll be getting to the vet in 1992.
Sigh. June. Kind of sad.
