Themeless Writing

My puppy is fashion-forward. She’s trying to bring leg-warmers back. Admit it: you want a pair. Or at least one.

Actually my puppy had to have surgery on New Year’s Eve (I think I accidentally rear-ended 2015 and that’s why it hated me so much). It went fine and she’s recovering, by which I mean the vet was happy with how the surgery went, but everyone in the house is now miserable and sleep-deprived. This is how it has been going:

Day 1: Puppy in pain. Makes heart-wrenching cries that make everyone else cry.

Night 1: Everyone rejoices when, at 3am, puppy demonstrates she is still able to pee fine. I never liked that pillow anyway.

Day 2: Despite not letting anyone sleep, puppy is wide awake and starting to walk. More celebrating as she poos for the first time, especially when it happens outside. Consequently our neighbors are starting to give us more odd-looks than normal.

Night 2: Puppy confuses surgery with group-concussions and so won’t let anybody sleep.

Day 3: Puppy is completely cured, at least in her own mind. She wants to run and jump and lick and scratch and can no longer hold still, despite causing herself pain. Have taken to laying on puppy, both to keep her still and to try to get some sleep.

Night 3: Why? Why can’t we sleep, puppy? I’m starting to hallucinate.

Day 4: Confined puppy to crate to keep her still. She is attempting to dig her way out of the crate and to China, where she plans to start a new life of constant running and licking.

Night 4: As I lie awake, I can hear them. The puppy toys are talking to me.

They want revenge.  Especially the now-earless-deer.

Day 5: Have duct-taped puppy to wall to keep her still. It’s not cruel: I duct-taped her food and water dishes to the wall, too.

Night 5: Turns out you don’t need sleep to survive. Have joined Twitter. They have accepted me as one of their own.

Day 6: Puppy and I have come to agreement that for every half-hour she holds still, she can lick one centimeter closer to her wound.

Night 6: Made peace with puppy toys.  They have accepted me as one of their own.

Day 7: Not sure how we are on day 7 three days after her surgery. Can no longer tell night from day. Am living in dog crate so I can have plausible deniability about how much running my dog does, endangering her stitches.

Night 7: I think all this time I have been living in a delusion. I may be my own puppy. Like Life of Pi, only cuter. And less cannibalism. Unless you count arm-licking as cannibalism, in which case, more cannibalism.

The vet said two weeks. I don’t think I’m going to make it. In lieu of flowers, send sleep.