The House that Illness Built

Hello world. It's 2:30 am, Saturday, February 17. I just cleaned up dog barf and am currently washing a load of towels. Yes, the little dog has a bad belly.

I had a heinous cold the other week that lingered forever and then Wednesday night, out of no where, I got the dreaded stomach thingy that is going around everywhere. I am tired of being sick. So, now that I am well, Little Miss Saffron is sick. I am worried about her because she's never had a bad belly this long.

And I always jump to conclusions where she's concerned...my first thought no matter what happens to her is that she is dying. And that's not just because she's an older doggie, that's because I'm an overprotective hyperchondriac. Then I think to myself that she ate some sort of poisonous substance outside, but that can't be either considering the outside is frozen over and there's nothing she could have gotten into. A logical person would just realize that she has some sort of "bug" and it has to work itself through her system. That's what a logical person would do. And then there is me.