With the constipation issue seemingly under control, with the help of a very fluidy diet and some chocolate tasting pills that look and taste like M&M which Jo got me from the pharmacy, I'm off the next challenge of rehabilitation.
And this time around the key word is "velcro".
I'll put it this way: I told you already that for the operation they shaved the area causing me to look like a chicken. Well, now the hair is growing back, and just like that itchy 5-o'clock beard that Jo doesn't like me rubbing her face with, it is now rubbing against me. Or particular parts of me, if you're up to date with the full details. And it's not nice: for a start, it means you wake up in the middle of the night quite a lot. And you cannot really sit still for too long, because eventually the velcro will step into action.
It's not that the rest of me is fine: Sitting is still not something I can do for long, and for walking I can only manage a slow one step at a time dance for short ranges. The doctor was telling us before the operation that people are often back to work after a couple of days following the operation; I don't see that happening after a week at all. So the headaches are not a big issue anymore, but how will I manage the 20 minute walk each way to the office when the walk to the post box seems to require the approval of Cape Canaveral? And then there's work itself.
Anyway: my brother has dumped Wabby the Dog on us again, after a long pause in which he had to use the services of other victims. Wabby is also the ace up our sleeves when it comes to fighting the rodents that seem to have been visiting our backyard all too often since our not that recent by now sewage mishaps. It's amazing how it works: signs of their visits all but disappear after he takes a short stroll through our backyard and pees a bit on the grass. That's biological warfare for you!
Wabby is a very cute dog; in fact, for someone who generally doesn't like dogs (don't say that to Jo's parents), I find him the only dog in the world that I really like. For all intents and purposes, he's family.
Well, other than when he barks, digs, or just extravagantly chooses to disobey you and become the pest that he is truly capable of being.
But it's usually a case of "all is forgotten" once this 12 year old dog looks you in the eye begging for you to throw the ball at him. It's amazing how much of a one track mind he has: You wake up in the middle of the night, and Wabby is 100% certain that the only reason for that is so that you can play with him.
At least he got me to fit my zoom lens on the Nikon and take some action photos of him in action in our backyard. Say what you say about his pestiness skills, he is quite photogenic.