Terrier: the new wayfarer

I've been putting this one off because it freaked me out so bad, but I'm finally able to share the experience and quite frankly you just aren't going to believe me.

Fourteen months ago I adopted Jake, whom I call the Pissin' Yorkie. Originally I'd begged his breeder for a tri-color female but to my surprise she offered this boy and I accepted but I'm still hoping she will sooner or later offer me my much preferred bitch.
Quite frankly I hate dogs (males) because they can't seem to keep their legs down and they can't keep their little dick's from leaking on your furniture or the corners of walls and on occasion your leg.

Iit took me a little bit of time to adjust to Jake and really grow a fondness to him. It didn't help that the little bastard fell head over heels in doggy love with the husband instead of me, and he was supposed to be MY companion. For the first couple of months he'd swoon when the man came home from work, his brown eyes welling up with adoration and he'd instantly forget that he'd had the entire day with me.

Jake came with extra equipment, I wasn't really excited about this and not only that, but some of his equipment was trapped inside which made his surgery a little bit more difficult and expensive. Let me tell you, this gift of a pup was starting to seem less of a gift! He didn't know the first thing about outdoor potty training, as he was a kennel dog and considered it okay to whiz in his area and when let outside he'd avoid the grass and instead head for the concrete patio.
This wasn't going to do for me, and diligent attention was going to have to begin.

Walking a 3 pound dog doesn''t really happen, not when my stride is over 3mph and my legs are 32" long. When I first put a collar on him he reared his little legs up and kicked around as if I had put a saddle on him and he was a wild horse. Imagine my laughter when the teensy leash clipped on and he was confronted with the weight of this added and dragging behind him, broncos around like a stallion.

After a year of his companionship and his switching loyalties from husband to me and back a few more times I'd like to say that he really likes me. I provide for him the additional affection that you can only get from grooming. He LOVES it when we get in the tub and a handful of shampoo starts massaging into his little doggy tresses.
Grooming a Yorkie is extensive, there are several layers of shampooing that takes place. After shampoo you have to condition and then comb and blow dry and comb and after that depending on what you want to accomplish ...scissoring or most recently I've taken to clippering.
Oh yes! Jake is currently sporting a fine mohawk.

As for his travels, you ask this because of the title - let me give you a little insight because of my opening statement...
In early February we had an over-abundance of red-tailed hawks out and about, their beautiful silhouettes circling in the skies. Those wings spread wide as they soar above, it leaves me feeling serene ..or it did until one early wet morning.

Now my days consist of me heading to bed around 4 or 5 a.m. I put the dogs out to do a fast pee trip at 3ish and I get up again at 7 or 730 and let them stay out until 9 before bringing them in. This particular morning I was hurting above average, a week or so before I'd had the slip and hurt myself (bringing in the treadmill if you'll remember reading that particular blog) and the added humidity from the rain, my FMS and just being exhausted all added up to needing to sleep in just a little bit longer but only until 930.
Stretching and knocking off half a dozen hot sweaty cats, I stuff my feet into my slippers and paddle out in my underpants to walk out to the patio and call the dogs in.

The sky is dark, like steel wool and the air is heavy with mist and fog and thick. It's nasty out and already and there's a huge puddle of water pooling on the patio (because the damn yard is slanted). I hollar out for the dogs, Poncho is huddled under the peach tree trying to take cover under the barren branches. The fat drops of water splashing down and pinging him.
Helen on the other hand is in her element, naturally - that dumb ass junkyard dog is bulldozing through every wet hole, making a muddy mess. She's celebrating the life giving water! Flopping to the ground and rolling in any smelly spot she can and mashing the odor into her coat.
Jake is no where to be found!

I yell for him, "Jake"..."Jakey" ..and then I go out into the yard, in my t-shirt and underpants in the cold (it's 50 degrees for sure) and the wet and it's now starting to rain and its not just mist anymore and circle the perimeter of the yard to make sure there's still no spots for escape for him. While I do this I'm calling for him, a little desperation in my voice by this time...and I notice..oh fuck, I notice the hawk dive bomb towards Poncho who has run towards the backdoor that I've left open just enough for him to nose his way back inside.

No fucking way is this really happening! I've been saying for a while now, kind of off hand to one of the cats...you are going to get eaten you dumb shit (because he keeps running out and playing in the yard when I go out in the yard at night). We have all sorts of birds of prey, most especially the hawks, vultures and owls. Recently an owl has taken roost in a large tree in the next door neighbors backyard. I hear it hooting each night and this particular cat is what most laypeople call 'pink'. Imagine how delectable he must look in the dark to this owl running around in the green grass?

So on this wet and cold morning, I've over slept and left my poor little defenseless Jake out in the yard. Soaking wet he weighs barely 3 pounds and I'd just recently given him a full shave down because of my back injury. He literally looked like a squirrel because I'd cut him completely down to nothing, not even a little lions mane. He had to appear to be a meal just handed to him on a platter.
Oh the GUILT I had and soon I'm walking around the yard and the wetness on my face was not just the rain but tears, and I'm sobbing because I've lost my little dog - that I didn't think I really loved.

Oh Jake ...Jake!
I go inside and throw on my husband's jacket and some sweatpants, not really thinking yet I start walking up the street and calling his name in hopes that maybe he'd really just gotten out of the yard. I know that he hadn't because, well he just wouldn't leave the yard because it's not in his little dog nature and the yard is completely closed.
Sniveling and hiccuping I speed dial hubby and probably hard intelligible I say "jake...gone..come home.."

I was so impressed by his showing up because the 10 minutes it takes to get from our house to the office was done immediately I think he just dropped everything and walked right out of a meeting just for me. He found me walking through puddles in my sandals, no socks and the temperature still dropping and now the rain coming down hard. Snot rolling, my chest heaving and I'm saying.." the fucking hawks took Jake!"

He can't believe it so goes driving around the neighborhood calling for him while I walk and believe it or not..I listen very carefully I hear YAP YAP..WHAT..!!!??? Jake? YAP YAP!!!
JAKE...I'm looking frantically around and still I look up and I see another hawk in the sky that was soaring up above.

I'm 5 houses south of my own and I look down the yard and into the yards in the next street and lo and behold...there's my little guy hopping up and down against a fence! He's desperately barking at me, YAP YAP. In this same yard there is a Rottie mix who is wagging his tail quite happily wanting to play with him but keeping his distance for the most part and in this yard there's a tree also bare of leaves with a few long branches..perfect for a large bird to perch upon..perhaps where one would sit and enjoy a meal?

I will never really know how my little dog ended up so far away from my home that cold wet morning but I can only imagine that he went Up Up and Away into the sky on Red Tail Air but wiggled and kicked enough to get set back down and save his little terrier life and come back to live with me.

oh and by the way, he loves me a LOT now since I saved him


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Redtailedhawkeatingsquirrel07.jpg

go left

Ever notice how we become completely dependent on our dominant hand?

When that happens we feel so helpless. It sure makes me stop to wonder what others go through when they are challenged with things much worse than something so simple as a boo-boo to the finger/thumb like I experienced this week.

What about those that are in serious accidents that leave them impaired for life? Left in chairs, or blinded or their families devastated to lose them forever when they are take from their lives?

Sure makes one wonder, we should definitely take stock in our good fortune.

Dumb ass me, I snuck up on Helen in the dark. She'd been barking her head off, at only Helen knows what. She doesn't always listen, hmmm I don't know if maybe I need to get her hearing tested sometime soon but my sly moves resulted in a fast snap and chomp on my thumb.

She is not a mean dog, never a growl or reason to think she's dangerous so I'm not going to be angry in the least let alone afraid of her but I'll say this, that frickin' hurt.

Didn't hurt anything like a cat bite (OH SHIT THAT'S THE WORST THING EVER) but it was damaging enough that I definitely would have benefited from a suture. That said, I won't make that trip to the ER & put myself nor the dog through rabies testing. She's had her vaccinations within the last 3 months, has the pearliest white teeth and I have enough antibiotics to treat a horse if necessary.

After putting her up in her crate I walked over to the kitchen sink blood oozing and dribbling in fat droplets along the path. The intense throbbing was surprising and I wondered just how much damage there was under all of that gore.

I turned on the faucet to a steady cool stream and jammed my injured paw underneath the stream, instantly sucking in a mouthful of cool air between clenched teeth and grimacing as the water parted a fat pad of torn flesh.

Her teeth had punctured the pad of my right thumb rather deep, scored along the side, cracked the nail about 1/3 of the way down going into the nail-bed and ripping off half of that. The rest of the nail-bed already turning a bright purplish hue announcing the bruising about to take place.

Still rinsing I reached for our foaming antibacterial soap and began the washing which wasn't pretty nor comfortable but it had to be done. The foam started white and soon lathering up to a sweet pink grapefruit color but I didn't find at this time my taste buds singing for even a tiny lick.

After this ritual I then grabbed for the first aid kit and went for more antiseptics and continued cleaning finally finishing off with some heavy duty pads and tape, not the easiest feat because years ago when I was a stupid 16 year old I'd made a mistake in the workplace and severed my LEFT thumb ...(its reattached) and I don't have the greatest mobility.

The waiting game began, husband was gone for the short time this all happened. He'd gone off to pick up a film for entertainment.

When he got home he was confronted with my Frankenstein thumb & I knew he'd have to redress it for me. He's a very sensitive man, just seeing it would give him more pain than I was feeling. Of course, when someone else touches your boo-boo's it also hurts more because they don't know the degree of pressure that you can tolerate..oh MAN I was crawling out of my skin when he put the bandage on.

He went so far as to find a nifty plastic hood on to keep me from bumping it on anything for a few days, redressing it every 8 hours.

Doing everything became a chore without that thumb! there went text messaging. There went my 90+ wpm typing and ...wiping my butt..well forget it.

If you're predominately right handed start practicing things with your left now!

Go left I say, learn to go with your left.
It might be 'handy'

U. F. C

Its nearly spring and on gorgeous days I take to the pavement, tying my laces after donning my sweatpants and other workout apparel. Yup, I gear up and look quite spiffy to hoof it around the track even going as far as wrapping around my still thick waist a fanny pack of unmistakable black zippered fabric with clip belt that resembles the strapping of a patio chair.

Depending on the temperature outdoors I might have on a windbreaker but most of the time it's simply a long-sleeve t-shirt and coordinating short-sleeved tee. Yes, I know that seems a little bit strange but I have fair skin and I'd like to keep my nearly ghostly appearance.

Everyone that initially gets to know me usually comments on my pale healthy skin and/or complexion which I coyly say, "aww thank you" but secretly I'm beaming inside because I know that I do have something fantastic.

Growing up in the late 70s and 80s I witnessed a trend of sun worshipers that cared not about sunscreens nor did they care about the damage they were inflicting upon their youth.

My mother, not really a 'beautiful' woman; was handsome in her own right and she adored the time she spent outside. She'd go out there with her face up into the sky while she crawled about on her knees digging in the yard pulling weeds and rearranging flowers and edging the garden.

She had me rather late in life,even so, she looked ancient to me and that was due in part to her hours in the sun. Her face was weathered and lined she was as brown as a grocery sack and nearly as creased. It was like the bag had been crumpled up as well.

Often I was asked if she were my grandmother; it would mortify me as a young girl. I knew then that I would do my best retain my youth if possible, I too am no beauty. I could at least have a saving feature.

my sister was the beauty, she was forever slathering her nubile body with a giant bottle of Johnson's baby oil and then climbing out of her bedroom window with a great big beach towel onto our roof (which had a flat portion) to get as close to the blazing sun as possible to eat up those rays.

She would lay out there as long as possible, a radio turned up where she could hear the songs of REO Speedwagon or Journey and avoid all of the boys in the neighborhood peeping at her in her bikini. Her skin was always tanned and golden, complementing her hazel eyes that had flecks of gold and green in them.
All of the fellows were in love with her, my brothers' friends would come over to swoon.

I'd come out now and then during the day but mostly I'd wait until the evening when the sun edged down below the horizon before frolicking and becoming one with nature.
My energy suddenly bolstered as the moon rose and the sun disappeared, my excitement mounting when I knew that soon the fireflies would flicker in the night as though the stars were twinkling right before my eyes within reach. Laying in the grass to stare up into the sky, picking out the constellations, feeling the sharp blades poking into the cotton of my clothes and tickling my bare legs.

Summer's in Indiana were relatively mild until late July and early August, therefore the kids could run and play without feeling the miserable oppressiveness in the evening as they might during the day. The cooler breezes would pick up and parents often sat outside on the porches drinking tea or lemon-aid to watch us as we hopscotched, double-dutched and played Red Rover.
Sounds of laughter, dogs barking at the children as they ran through yards (sometimes taunting them), and cars humming on the streets as they passed by slowly.

In the days that I was growing up people were much more cautious and caring of their neighbors lookng out for one anothers children. Back then the streets were also cobbled and bricked, the whirring of rubber on bricks was a calming sound to me
The sound it made in the split second between each brick placed side by side as the tireds hit that hollow flip...whirrrr..plip...whirrr...plip...I liked laying my head on the leather of my dad's Buick in the backseat or against the metal of the door while we were driving just to listen to the noises the streets made.
The sounds the car made were fascinating to me. Not every scene in the city were as important as the sounds, I loved it when it rained also, because you could hear the motor of the window wipers and the click click clack flap and it slid across the glass. My dad too often bought the wrong size and it was just slightly too long and it would catch on the metal of the outer rim of the windshield.
Sadly those bricks were soon replaced by the city to be paved. Oh boy, your tax dollars hard at work!

Way back then I was a slim child but these days I'm plump and this is why I must return to my walking and these days I have a companion to help me stay motivated.
Helen!
Helen is my 20 pound Corgi mix (with Brussells Griffon) hairy mongrel that I somehow thought I needed about a year ago. What was going on is that Poncho, my 9+ year old 7 pound Chihuahua mix is getting older and lonely and I figured a companion would be good for him as well as helpful for me in the even of his demise if it were to happen in his advanced years.

Being without a pooch would be pretty difficult for me, they've nearly always been around except for a short time during my first marriage to a narcissist jerkwad. I eventually found a pooch during the last few months of our marital bliss simply because I was so absolutely lonely and unhappy in my situation and we happily left together.

Anyhow, walking alone in this age seems a little bit lonely as well ...as dangerous. Who knows what sort of weirdo's there are anymore + I have my list of medical problems it sure wouldn't hurt to have a dog with me that could at least lower my stress. I'm neurotic as hell.
She's chubby, I'm chubby we can both benefit from our walks and as one of our favorite daytime pet celebrities states - dogs need to be stimulated and have a purpose and stay exercised. So we walk, they can't just go outside and wander around that's not enough especially for a breed that is supposed to be working. Corgi's are herding dogs and she loves to herd the squirrels that come into the yard.

It seems that Spring will come early and with that the rains have been hard and frequent, keeping Helen and I home many times over the last 2 weeks. Our fanny pack, the leash and sunglasses put away...the iPod sitting in the charger and any extra gear sitting patiently.
We are bored for certain, the scents and sights of our walks entertain the both of us - Helen likes to socialize with other dogs and have walkers approach to pat her on the head.
I like to people watch, and give new dogs the same scritch on the head - alas we are stuck here watching the rain splatter against the glass of the windows. Luckily for us however, if you go back and read in January...
we have the dreaded treadmill here.

When the first deluge hit and my patio was several inches deep the dogs were hip high wading about the yard, shivering and yipping to come back in. They showed such pitiful looks to me that I couldn't leave them out for long even though an average day results in 5 or 6 romps in our large yard. They can't possibly take enjoyment when their tiny paws are being sucked into the muck, being pulled in as though it were black quicksand.

Therefore a plan was devised, again from memories of...Ceasar from television and the attempts began. Leashes attached, buttons pushed and gently we lowered the canines onto the slowly moving belt of the treadmill.
The tiny legs at first refused and the comical scene had us in stitches watching the pups zoom backwards only to fall off. It appeared like a reversal of the show "I Love Lucy" when she and Ethel were trying to stuff the chocolates into the paper cups and boxing them but soon all of them were falling off the assembly line - only this time the dogs were falling off and going backwards.
So we started to experiment by standing astride the dogs while holding them, they wouldn't use their front legs at first and their rear legs would start to run something akin to the roadrunners just powering away and then those legs would stop and the front legs would go.
This would vary, front, back, front - back until finally..after we'd adjust the speed...the dogs would just figure it would just hit their stride and start to walk!

SUCCESS!

When Helen realized she was walking and getting accolades for walking, in addition to that she was also getting the exercise she'd missed during the rainy day she started to really plow through it. The 2nd evening she ran on the machine for 30 minutes which was 1 mile.
The 3rd night she went for 45...and the 4th it was an hour.
Now typically she and I would walk for 90 minutes to 2 hours, which is a damn long time because I get beat and it hurts a lot. By then both of us are panting and sometimes she's whining at me like I've killed her but she sleeps like a baby that night.
The days we walk at the park, at the 1/3 mile marker she ALWAYS needs to stop and take a healthy shit. During the day at home she will run around the yard and play like a maniac but most of the time she takes her time before actually going.
It's really quite aggravating because it's as though the dog forgets to crap. I mean, why in the Hell are you holding it?
Everyone else has done their business, don't hold up the troops because sometimes we are limited so do it and get back in here. It might be cold out there and I'm going to make you get back inside.

Here we are, the 2nd week of really awful wet weather. Helen has had herself a run 10 times on the treadmill and after the 3rd run on the thing she has become a demanding bitchy little diva. She comes out of her crate from sleepy time, has a sip of water or a crunch on her dinner and then BARKS at us that it's time for her exercise.

WTF dog, how dare you tell ME that you want something! She then sits besides her leash waiting for me to snap it on, heels and then walks over very nicely to the machine, steps up and waits for me to tie it on as though I'm hitching a horse up.
She waits for me to turn it on and then starts to trot her ass along smiling away while hanging her tongue out and wagging that shaggy tail.

This evening while I stepped away for a few minutes, literally I think I was gone for 2 minutes to go to wash my hands because I really don't like having doggie smelly hands.

Upon my return, I have found that at the 1/3 mile mark Helen's decided that it was perfectly okay to let loose her Tootsie Rolls.

ZOOM her perfectly shaped tubular easily(un) identifiable turds have gone FLYING off of the belt across the room!

Imagine this little dog never stopping to squat and shit like any other dog might, instead letting it go on the fly. Tail up and squeezing her sphincter, a dog smile and a fart all the while jogging at 3 mph. My guess that a cat sitting at the helm and another behind her wondering what type of new toy was coming their way.

Leave it to one of my Sphynx, they already enjoy taking dry poop out of the box to play turd-hockey.

rub my ass

Your first massage therapy session is probably a daunting session, you come in and meet a complete stranger and come to the realization that this stranger is about to fondle your naked body in a room...just the 2 of you!
Butterflies, their wings fluttering within your tummy. You feel the wings slapping away while you try to make up your mind if emancipation of body from clothing is really what you are ready for!

Most of us have trust issues and women in particular have issues with body image and acceptance. Do YOU have the courage to just get naked? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6KFV9_pM2c0

In order to have a massage you actually have to take off your clothing, or as much as you are comfortable with removing to get to all of the spots that need soothing.
If your back aches, it only seems smart to remove your shirt.
If your legs hurt, it seems simple that your pants would come off
If everything screams in agony well then ...you will be stripped out of your skivvies and find yourself sliding under the soothing cotton sheets and waiting for the gentle hands to administer their healing hands...

The healing hands of a complete stranger!

Our bodies are our temples they say, and we are taught to cherish them and to never hand the keys to 'just anybody' let alone expose ourselves to strangers nor be so wanton as to let someone manhandle our flesh so intimately without having a relationship.
A relationship you say?

Yet, when we say to someone that we are getting a massage ...doesn't everyone just OOOHHH and AHHHHH in absolute jealousy?

How often do you hear, "OMG I wish I was getting that" or even mutterings of, "that bitch I can't believe she can afford that" and "she can't pay so-and-so bill but she can go and get a massage and her nails done?"
The finer things in life are often niceties such as manicures, pedicures, massages, maids, yard workers or an Au Pair for the little ones but let's look at this seriously.

What do we work for? What other reason other than to live and breath? Why should we only work to pay the bills and live hand to mouth; to simply exist and to never experience comfort and joy?
Every joy doesn't necessarily have to be epicurean nor do you have to live as a spartan, a world devoid of the sparkle and bling that we crave.

Treat yourself to things that make you happy and if it's extravagant, then so be it because we have only one life we are given so LIVE IT!

Live it naked as often as possible.

Knisper! Knasper! Knusper!

I started writing that last little story to go on about something funny that happened on our trip and it never ended up getting written. I bet my readers are wondering what happened, all you got was a big fat dose of pensiveness.
When I put my fingers to the keys I have an idea of where my story will go but just like my conversations, I can often get off on a tangent and WATCH OUT I will ramble and get so off course you'll never know what the original discussion was ever about.
I epitomize the word 'manic' most of the time but what would the world be without high-strung people like me? well, at least in my eyes...boring.

So what's new you say? There's always something new and not so exciting going on in my life.
The trip to get the treadmill has resulted in massive injury to my back. (I) Didn't whine about it in the last blog because I was still creaming my jeans over the truck. Around midday Tuesday following the trip I was horizontal and in tears.
The night we were unloading the treadmill, which is a behemoth, I took a wrong step while trying to grip the base and I felt something make an earth shattering pop.

Something detonated in my lower back!

Naturally I'm pretty hard headed and didn't want to seek medical attention because I figured that bed rest wouldl be plenty. Iit's ironic that the trip was to get me off of the bed and back into my exercise regime.

When Wednesday rolled around, which is now only slightly blurry to me (6 days ago), I awoke with my face wet, tears still upon my cheeks and my nose snorky from snot. We all know how that is, when you've wept for so long that you can't staunch the flow of moisture coming out of your facial orifices.

That day the husband had slept in late for work and I drove him to work, I can't even remember the reasoning for me to keep the car in the middle of the week let alone when I'm so miserable I wouldn't want to do any chores and errands but who cares about this right now...what matters is that while I'm driving him there with my very adorable Armani sunglasses covering my face I continue to cry silently.

This is probably a little known fact about me, I don't like to cry in public or even around people that know me and if I DO cry you oftentimes would never know it without looking right at me to witness tears. I can do it silently and keep the chest upheavals to a minimum.

I try to minimize my sniffles and schluffs so as not to gather attention, this goes back to a childhood where one wasn't supposed to really have these types of expressions of feelings. Crying didn't get you anything anyhow, distasteful looks and bitter responses about how hard they had things so what was YOUR problem?

when and if I cry loudly, I do it when I'm alone.

The 6 minute drive from house to office complete, husband walks out of car into his building and I pull away from the curb and drive about 200 feet from the building and park at the farthest reach of the parking lot and really let loose. I finally accept, there is no way I'm going to survive the day without doing something drastic.
Drastic for me is medical intervention.

Have I mentioned in the past - I hate doctors?

First I drove out to where I know the local massage school is, thinking that even an advanced student massage would be better than nothing plus ...I'm CHEAP. Let's never forget how damn cheap I am. Pulling into the parking lot and going just beyond the entrance I see a sign that says 'Closed' and a sigh escapes me. I'm now utterly defeated!

The building has an alley behind it to which I drive behind so I can come back around and head back towards home to lick my wounds (or worse), but while sitting idle waiting for traffic to open up I look to my right and WA-LAH! there is a chiropractor right next door.
Not only that there's a sign that says, "Pain? Try Acupuncture!"

I've heard from plenty of people that swear that this works, this acupuncture mumbo jumbo and since I'm ready to use a machete on my carotid & femoral arteries I quickly swing into traffic for a blink of an eye and then within another blink the car swings right into the parking lot of the bone cruncher.

No tenderfoot to this means of pain relief I go in with hopes of a miracle. A kind faced fellow meets me at the desk and introduces himself as the doctor, we discuss my history and what brought me to his door ...and then the magic begins.
Generally an X-ray is required for any new chiropractor before they'll even lay hands on you but I have a way of persuading people to do what I want, and when you can see torment in my green eyes you feel compelled to let me have my way.

The first few moments I was about to hop back off the table because I was sure this guy was a hack. It's been a while since I had seen a chiropractor in an office, my last guy actually did adjustments for me in the physical therapy office at the doctors office. He was a licensed chiropractor but not practicing for that instead he was doing the P/T (I think just to be employed in this awful economy). I'd get adjustments right on a standard patient table, not really that easy to do since most of the time its easiest when you are much lower to the ground and I'm not a petite gal.
This new guy, his table is a 'bump' table and it started see-sawing and freaking me out. Apparently this stretching is going to help him do his alchemy but it's just causing me to gasp every time my spine is pulled this way and that.

Then he leans in and gets to work, holy fudgsicles I thought I was going to shit my pants and if not that, at least blast him with a tremendous fart. Seriously, have you ever been shocked or hurt in a way that it makes you fart? or am I the only one? I can't be the only one...I know when I laugh or snort or cough too hard sometimes I'll whizz myself but wait that's a different problem!

See-saw see-saw and he says, "okay I'm going to bump you" and KABLAM! the table drops and he does this crazy yanking on me and I feel my hip popping into place. oh man, wait a minute this table thing works.
this went on for quite some time, the visit took nearly 45 minutes which I know is a very long visit compared to previous visits to others.

He gave me an adjustment to my busted up knee and even popped my ankles, elbows and shoulders. It was disconcerting at first but after a while I felt almost 'airy', very light on my feet but that's a joke because when I stood I still wasn't really all that ambulatory but I was MUCH better that's for certain.
My third visit he will get to poke needles into me, I'm going to have him take pictures too!

It's been a few days since my first visit in fact yesterday was my 2nd visit and I'm walking much better but unfortunately my pain remains. We had discussed the possibility of a herniated disk (that pop, remember?) and I guess I should suck it up and pay for the xrays after all. But the question is, so what if it is? THEN WHAT? then you get told you can't do this, or this or that or this...

Hell I already know I can't because I know what my limits are. (Yes I push my limits a lot who cares)
Right now my limits are: lifting my dogs Poncho (7 lbs) and Jake (4 lbs) but Helen can walk on her own unless I get a fit of adrenaline and want to push my limits more.

Thank you to my husband who has been a very understanding guy - he puts up with a lot of my complaining but this last week has been one of the worst yet. I'm sorry I'm broken and there's no warranty.

Just remember that antiques are always beautiful even if they have some character flaws.