Bad. Badder. Baddest.

Dear friends,

Yesterday was a crapola day.

It started first thing with a severe vision disturbance that is a sure sign of an impending migraine. I was on my way to a meeting when my vision got all wonky. I don’t know how to explain what it’s like except to say it’s sorta like looking through a kaleidoscope and sorta like looking through goggles with Vaseline smeared on them.

In case you’re wondering, this was bad.

And wouldn’t you know it — I had recently switched purses and failed to transfer my medication to the purse I was carrying. Fortunately, a colleague who also suffers from migraines slipped me one of her capsules right as I stepped into the meeting.

Unfortunately, it’s not the exact prescription I take. So the effect was pretty weird. I felt like I had the flu and a wicked case of heartburn simultaneously. That I talked my way through an hour-long meeting in my flu-heartburn-kaleidoscope vision state is — in my humble opinion — a testament to an enviable talent at faking a whole lot of things.

Which might be a good thing normally, but the flu-heartburn-kaleidoscope vision state was definitely badder.

By the time I left the meeting, my migraine was nearing full bloom, so I went home and laid in the dark for two hours, mostly sleeping. When I awoke, I felt considerably better, although I kept asking Kate the same question. When she pointed this out to me, all I could say is “Sorry. I have a migraine.”

Still, I made it back to the office before 3:00 pm and put in two good hours, after which I had a couple of hours to spare before a business dinner. As I drove home, that’s where things really fell apart.

My sweet new puppy, Lily Pad, got too close to my tires as I pulled into the garage and I ran her over.

By the time I killed the engine and got out of the car, she was lying in the grass beside the garage with both back legs splayed to the side and wailing for mercy. Mr. Mom heard the commotion and came right out. Lily was bleeding and quivering and a pitiful sight to behold.

I’m guessing you can imagine how I felt. Flu-heartburn-kaleidoscope vision was a cake-walk compared to running over your dog, which is B-A-D-D-E-S-T.

Mr. Mom scooped Lily up and we headed for the Vet’s office. It was after 5:00 pm on a Friday, so we called ahead and the doctor was kind enough to wait on us.

Fortunately, she was only a little banged up. Her tail was split open and she had numerous abrasions, but no broken bones. The doctor gave her two shots — an antibiotic and a steroid — and a prescription to help her through the next few days. Mr. Mom treated her abrasions and we returned her to a shady spot in our yard by Ed’s side.

A few hours later, Mr. Mom observed her running full-tilt after a squirrel in our woods so we figured all was well. We’ve taken to calling the delicate Lily Pad a new name — Iron Dog.

With gratitude {for pliable puppy bones and a happy ending to an otherwise sucky Friday},

Joan, who is easily amused by Lily’s coonhound nose, which compels the pooch to retrieve and carry any object handled by her family, including empty flower pots