Saturday for me = work. Every Saturday. Keep in mind, that my weekdays are for the most part free. Tomorrow, I don't work. I do work on Monday, but then I'm off until Saturday. I no longer have anything called a weekend. This is fine. My hours might increase slightly as we approach Black Friday, but that's a temporary.
Biggie is more active off of his carprofen. He was on that because it's an anti-inflammatory. Like humans with arthritis, that inflammation is never going to go away, and it's the inflammation which causes the pain. Dogs are like small children. All they know is that it hurts. The gabapentin's a pain blocker, which is what I'm more concerned about. Believe me, I had no problem cancelling the refill on his carprofen.
An interesting thing about the cuckoo clock: both dogs are fascinated by it. They will stare at it when it cuckoos on the hour. And when I pull down the heavy metal pine cones to wind it? They are right there having what seems to be a holy shit moment. I suspect it's the faint rattling sound of the chains moving over the gears.
I was sitting by Biggie on the writing room sofa yesterday, when Lily dropped the T-Rex she'd had in her mouth and plopped herself down on a cushion in front of us, (cushions never stay where they're placed). That round, wooden box she seems to be looking at is, indeed, a hat box. An old hat box. The writing on the lid dates it to the first Grand Prix in Paris. That's right, I'm using an antique as a toy box.