First, can we all thank Karyn for carrying the load of posting this week, turning out amazing content and keeping everyone (including me) entertained? I’m so grateful that I won’t even argue the fact that a person who loves mustard as much as she does is leaving money on the table by not enjoying it on a hot dog, especially with some kraut.
So, I’m sorry that I’ve been a vapor trail. I have a book due in three weeks, plus I had to pitch a couple of potential new projects. Naturally, this was the best time for a near-devastating veterinary emergency.
To keep things fresh, this time it involved Hambone. A few weeks ago, Fletch and I were talking about all of poor little Libby’s medical maladies. She’s in remission and doing really well, so we made the mistake of relaxing and letting down our guards. People call this constant worrying about things that could happen “anxiety,” but those of us in the know understand that if you aren’t constantly fretting about what could happen, it happens.
To reiterate: NEVER STOP WORRYING. THAT’S WHAT LETS THE MONSTERS IN.
Anyway, one of us—me, I think—made the mistake of saying how in eleven years, Hambone has been almost preternaturally healthy. We talked about how she hasn’t slowed down for one second. Years have gone by where the only reason she had to go to the vet was for her immunizations and she’s still powerful enough to leap a four-foot fence standing still.
The universe must have heard this conversation, which is why Hambone got very sick, very fast.
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