Oh hai! I’m back. And now I’m married, and EVERYTHING HAS CHANGED. No. Not really. Nothing has changed. I have more dresses, is all. It was a great day, we had fun, the rain held off (all you can ask of New Zealand, really) and I didn’t cry. I was really worried about crying. Turns out my sister cried and I didn’t. I call that a win!

Up until yesterday I had nary a photo; I remember being there, but had no evidence. I have a few now from the photographer and from friends.

This should give you some idea of our weather, although this is way enhanced; also that we often take walks atop volcanoes whilst formally dressed. What? You don’t? I recommend it. I may do it again this Sunday (although the dearth of volcanoes in Melbourne may be an issue).

This photo, or variations of it, was taken all day. This shot particularly amuses me because without our heads I feel like I’m wearing a nightie. This is stolen directly from a friend’s Facebook page… ah, social media.

And although I’m glad the day is over (I was never one to moon over a wedding, this is probably obvious by now) I’m really glad we did it – we had fun, our families enjoyed it, we got to see a lot of our old friends again, and we got some great jewellery. And look! That’s real grass we’re standing on in that photo up there! And when I walked across my parent’s lawn to take a shortcut into the house, IT SQUELCHED. Naturally waterlogged grass. What’s next? Unicorns?

get in mah belleh

OK, so I go back to New Zealand tomorrow for a week of (I presume) frenetic activity and rushing around. Yay! I am totally organised, in that everything that needs to be done is written on index cards. I mean, I still have to DO these things, or get others to do these things, but apart from that it’s smooth sailing. Right? What could go wrong?   *crickets*

Car Update: Picked up the new car on Saturday morning. I am a bit eh on cars normally (actual conversation: “What sort of car are you getting?” “A grey one.”) but turns out I really like this one. Which is good, because now I’m stuck with it. It’s going to live at work while we’re away, so that it is nicely locked away and undercover. And I’ve only stalled it three times so far! (I never stall cars usually, but the clutch on this one is much, um, zippier than the Land Rover. Yes, “zippier” is a technical car term.)

Breakfast Update: I made (heavily modified) dutch babies for Sunday morning brunch. This may be the third week in a row I have done this; I neither confirm nor deny. They are like gigantic fluffy pancakes, but really they’re half-pancake, half-omelette. Anyway, I opened the oven door to take a photo of them, like so:

Aaaaaand all the condensation whooshed out of the oven and steamed up my camera lens, like so:

Oh, there’s the roof of the New Car out in the driveway. And no, my kitchen doesn’t usually look like it’s clearing from a morning mist; I am clearly a photographic genius. However, I am a genius with A DELICIOUS BREAKFAST, which counts for something.


I… need to get those photos to move further down the page, seriously. Also I just updated WordPress and crossed my fingers and my eyes and tried to save off everything I might need to rebuild; it looks OK to me from here but if something looks screwy, please be sure to tell me and I will… well, I’ll be sad about it. I don’t think there’s all that much I can DO about it, but rest assured I will wish that I could.

My main problem with the dress you see below is not, in fact, the starfish (or the brittlefish if I’m being correct, I guess); it’s the way the ruching has been tacked down. On your four-figure wedding dresses, this stitching is done underneath the folds so it can’t be seen, and it looks as if a large amount of material has just naturally draped itself around you in the manner of a Greek oracle. I can, technically, remove this and restitch it, but a) I shouldn’t have to, and b) I don’t know if the satin material will hold the sewing marks & puckering, as I suspect it would (although I haven’t tried it and I haven’t asked a dressmaker). Nobody else has picked up on this stitching but me, but I find it GLARINGLY AWFUL and so it’s better I don’t have to defensively cross my arms all day, or request a horizontal bouquet I can hug against myself. Anyway, it’s v. nice apart from that so I don’t see a problem in selling it. Any takers? Beach Barbie, perhaps?

Car update: MY CAR IS BACK YAYYYYY. That’s eleven weeks. I am a SAINT. I drove it home on Friday afternoon, Mr. T washed it and on Saturday morning we drove it to trade it in. New car will be mine next Wednesday; with the slight problem that the registration on my car expires on Saturday, leaving me three days in which I must… catch the train. How I’ve missed my fellow train commuters. How happy I shall be to see them all again. How flat and lifeless I sound. Anyway, I have really liked my car (paid off! No trouble! Fill with diesel once a month!) but clearly I have moved into the expensive Old Age Upkeep part of its life and I am harshly fobbing its problems onto someone else. Good luck, little car! May your transfer case never (again) fail!

Cat update: He went to the vet for his vaccinations (well, we took him, he didn’t go on his OWN) and came away with a diagnosis of ear mites. The vet looked dubious when we told him large flakes of grossness were flying out of his ears when he shook his head (the cat’s head, not the vet’s), yet obediently looked down his ears only to find MITE CITY, or perhaps METROPOLIS. So we have a tiny bottle of yellow oily stuff which must be squirted into the cat’s ears and then you rub firmly under the ear to squidge it all in; it sounds revolting, and it can’t be any better hearing it from the inside, as the cat is doing. Anyway, it’s called canaural compositum, leading to us waving the little bottle over our head like a wand and intoning “CANAURAL COMPOSITUM!” towards the cat, in manner of Harry Potter. For the record, the yellow oil does not fire out of the bottle and directly into the cat’s ears; we still have to hold him down and drip it in there. This would explain our lack of back-to-school letters from Hogwart’s, I guess.

i just give and give to you people

[Ed Note: I remembered I wanted to take photos right on dusk, and ran out to my back yard with a giant wedding dress and a camera. You’re WELCOME.]

Why, I just happened to be walking past your clothesline here and I noticed this charming wedding dress taking the air most modestly. That is a lovely ivory colour, and a very flattering cut if I may be so bold. And is that a demure sparkling jewel at the bodice?

Let me come a little closer, the better to admire your decolletAAAAAH! AHHH. Ah. Pray excuse me. I was… startled. Is that… please permit me to examine…

A new species! The  are not usually so LARGE and full of ARMS, you know. Why, one would think it was aiming to take over the world, beginning right here by devouring your chest.

live in a cold climate

You know it’s a bad sign when you have to read your own blog to figure out what you’re up to. Answer: you’re totally up to date. Nothing more has happened. OK, maybe a little bit has happened. Shall we do bullet points? Answer: Yes.

Mr T has bought some bathroom scales, which is an item we have never owned. He set them up and levelled all the complicated electrickery parts (of COURSE they’re the complicated kind of scales) and then weighed himself. I then weighed myself out of interest and was horrified. HORRIFIED. Now, I haven’t weighed myself for a good couple of years but I am quietly confident that my weight doesn’t change much. I like to think I weigh X, I actually weigh X + 3kg, and yet these scales were telling me that I weighed X + 8kg. The scales are WRONG. Clearly. Can’t be right. Can’t. I shifted my weight to see if that would help, and nearly tipped the cat off my shoulders where he was… ah. Right. That’s five extra kilos of STUPIDITY, right there. Ahem. After releasing the cat (who was quite enjoying himself) it turns out I weigh X + 3kg. As I thought. Actually, these scales can also tell you your fat percentage, a no doubt horrifying number that I have NO WISH to know.

Wedding update: OK, I was lying about the bullet points. It’s paragraphs, all the way!

Days To Go: Actually, I don’t know. Calendar? 23 days. OK then. That seems… close.

People Freaking Out: One, my mum. Maybe more. Although she now has something to wear, which is good.

Bridesmaids with Clothes: One, or 100%. This is good, because I forgot my sister can’t make a decision to save her life, and therefore telling her to wear whatever she wanted was actually a special kind of torture. Anyway, she found an awesome dress in peacock blue silk. Done.

Grooms with Clothes: One, or 100% (200% if you count the best man, who just has to follow along, poor lamb). Clothes had all been decided ages ago, but we couldn’t find any shoes (barefoot would have been fine but bloody cold). Shoes found: Chuck Taylors, which look great. He is considering bright blue ones, but turned down the silver velvet ones (silver velvet! They were so nice to pat). I’ll keep you posted on what actually eventuates.

Wedding Dresses Owned: Three. Yes. Correct. Remember when, a couple of weeks ago, I said there was a long story here? Well clearly it has now gotten even longer, and is in fact so complicated that I can’t remember where in the story I am up to when I talk to people, and just sort of gloss over the whole thing. Short story: decided on dress and couldn’t find anything similar off the rack or as a sample or second-hand. My only option, with my short timeline, was to get it made in China. China sent me the dress, which was a) the wrong colour and b) had a gigantic starfish made of beading on the bodice. I pointed out this out. China flogged the 9-year old seamstress (I may be extrapolating this part) and sent me the dress again, without requiring me to send back the other dress. Received dress number 2, which was the right colour but (due I presume to being made within a week by a flogged seamstress) had one shoulder strap half a cm larger than the other and because this colour fabric was somehow thinner, the boning was visible through the dress. Well, I felt it was, even though my Objective Opinion Person thought I was mad and that the dress looked great. It just wasn’t as awesome as I’d hoped. But the dress is flattering and fixable and I was prepared to fix it, especially considering I got it made at the standard length and had to get it taken up anyway. Except that on Saturday I just stuck my head into the clearance bridal shop I had been to at the start of my search (and found nothing then) and… of course found a dress. It’s basically the floor sample of the original dress which had just made its way into the store that week: identical designer, identical colour, very similar cut, half price. So of course I bought it and now I have three dresses. And keep in mind this is the SHORT version of this story. Are you exhausted yet? Try being me. So the moral of the story is as I said it was all the time: buying a dress off the internet is a gamble, but it is one that can pay off. If it doesn’t, be prepared to deal with it.

No, Wait, Go Back to the Starfish: I know, it really is the funniest part. On the original picture of the dress, there’s a brooch on the bodice. I didn’t think to mention the brooch to the Chinese people, as I planned to turf any tacky brooch they sent me and source my own brooch. Here is a mistake right here: NEVER ASSUME. Because instead of just pinning a crappy brooch to the dress, they “interpreted” the brooch in beading. A LOT of beading. With ARMS. I was… mildly nonplussed when I zipped open the bag, that’s for sure. I have just gone looking for photos but they are all blurry once I crop myself out of them, so I’ll get right on that.

What, No Photos At All? I’m as surprised as you are.

Car Update: Eleven weeks. ELEVEN WEEKS. I have the patience of a SAINT. They tell me this Saturday. They have told me this EVERY Saturday. I am… not optimistic.

magnum pi (mmm, pi)

I know, right? Let’s just move RIGHT ALONG and pretend I’ve been here the whole time talking to you all … my god I have just been distracted mightily by seeing Miss Panama’s Miss World costume, seen in the first pic here. Now THAT, my friends, is a costume!

And since I’ve been here the whole time, no doubt I told you a friend of mine had a costume party for her 40th. Did I also tell you I have a friend old enough to have a 40th, spinning the rest of us into a spiralling vortex of our own mortality? Anyway, my costume was lame but Mr T’s costume was Scooby Doo and was a sure-fire hit. He didn’t like people grabbing his tail, though. The only downside was that he wouldn’t do a bottleshop run in the Scooby costume – he insisted on stripping down to his shorts and T-shirt he was wearing underneath. Which didn’t look at all weird, on a freezing night of about 2 degrees. Maybe marginally better than the Scooby costume. And then we went to ANOTHER 40th birthday (oh my god how is this happening, I swear it was all 21sts just a couple of years ago), this one a birthday dinner (at which I made the cardinal mistake of not looking up the restaurant and turned up in jeans – albeit jeans with a fancy shirt – and found everyone else in suits & little dresses at one of Melbourne’s fancy CBD restaurants, um, oops) and ended up sitting next to a vet, who turned out to be no ordinary vet, but one of the spinal surgeons who consulted on my Black Dog’s gold-plated spine operation. He was very excited to hear how well he did after the operation, which was nice. He wouldn’t refund any money, though.

I went to Costco on the week of its opening (I made work buy a membership, which happened to be in my name, funny how that happens). (For foreigners: The first Costco in Australia just opened in Melbourne. Also: you all talk funny.) I was really hoping for more American food (Mr. T and I steered our giant trolley through the crowds chanting “Goldfish! Goldfish!” but unfortunately Costco FAILED to import crackers, damn their eyes) but we did OK. I did buy a gigantic bucket of caramel popcorn, complete with pecans glued into the caramel, and that was yum. Mr. T bought jerky and that was eh. We solemnly bought our 48 rolls of toilet paper (I don’t think you’re allowed out without that) as well as a few other bits and pieces, and got out relatively pain free. Having said that, all around us on the other registers people were buying stuff that I never even SAW (gigantic pizzas! Crocs! An orchid plant! A gigantic whole fish!) (SO not joking about any of these items) so clearly we need to go back when the entirety of Melbourne is not standing gape-jawed in the aisles like yokels. We may have hit a few people in the arse with our giant cart as they stood there vacantly staring at jars of coffee (hint: it’s JUST LIKE the coffee you currently buy in Woolworths, but in a BIGGER JAR) and we may not have apologised. You know how it goes.

The wedding planning continues but my mum is now panicking, which is annoying because there is nothing to panic ABOUT. I think she just wants to. There is a gigantic amusing saga with my dress which ends with a seamstress being flogged, but remind me to go into all of that when a) I have more time and b) my dress is safely in my possession. I have bought all sorts of other fun bits & pieces (clutch bag, underwear, hair fascinator thing) so I am still enjoying the whole process. Buying fun things! What’s not to like? I also went and checked on my ring once it was finished last week (but which I’m not picking up until the week before we leave) and I love it. New jewellery! This whole wedding thing is really stimulating the economy.

Oh, also I still have no car. That’s over eight weeks, people. And I have developed a horrible chesty cough thing, no doubt caught from my feral fellow commuters. Curse you all! They are promising my car back any day now, but I am now resigned to the fact that it will NEVER RETURN. I always said I didn’t want a new car and I would just drive this one into the ground; well, turns out I’ve done that. Huh.


Thanks for all your lovely comments on my cat, and from nobly refraining from slandering my wedding choices to my face. But hopefully you’re doing it behind my back, right? Right? Although it’s the internet, you know; you can actually do it right to my face and there’s not a damn thing I could do about it. Apart from delete you, like the (holy crap) 29 spam comments I just deleted. WordPress, you were worth it just for your delicious spam-catching abilities.

Anyway, none of you are spam and I appreciate you, and should write you a thank-you card within 4-6 weeks. Or is that the wedding? I forget. Anyway, all my invitations have been addressed and sent out so WOE BETIDE anyone that asks me about the cake. Also, I’ve realised that nowhere on the invite is my or Mr. T’s last name mentioned. Oh well, if you don’t know my last name you’re probably not invited, no? That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Just eat your free cake, dammit. The addressing of the envelopes was quite a performance in itself; because I can’t write in a straight line, I printed out some nice dark lines on printer paper to slip into the envelope and use as guidelines. However my envelopes were too thick to see the lines through the front. What do do? I need a light table, is what I need. Which is why you would have seen me addressing envelopes cross-legged on the couch, leaning on a glass baking dish on my knees, with an Ikea lamp between my legs and shining up under the glass dish. Voila! Instant light table. Of course, it’s quite hot having a lamp between your legs, but it just encouraged me to finish the job quickly. 60 watts of encouragement, as it were. Luckily there are no pictures but I’m sure you’re all very imaginative.

What else? My car has died AGAIN. I really do like my car, but the advice of the mechanics who currently have it is, “Once we fix it, sell this car immediately”. Um. OK then. Cue Mr. T pretending to drive me to fun places like Target (I had to buy Lego! Do you know how expensive Lego is? It is WICKED expensive) and on the way suddenly swerving towards car yards and making me walk round them. This weekend just gone in Melbourne was BLOODY FREEZING and also FUCKING WINDY and the last thing I wanted to do was walk round goddamned car yards. However this rates as one of Mr. T’s Favourite Things to Do (it’s a guy thing I think) so he was more than thrilled to expound on the virtues of this car or that car. My input? Sitting in the driver’s seat and making sure I can see to the edges of my bonnet (I hate not being able to see the front of my car) and that I don’t sit too low (I like the high sitting position of 4WDs, being a shortarse myself). That’s it. That’s my sum total of requirements for a car. Wait, and cup holders. So I am interested to see what I end up with. It’s in Mr. T’s hands now. But as of the last few weeks I have not had a car, requiring me to catch the train into work, which has been fine (seeing as it’s been school holidays here). Tomorrow: not school holidays. And it’s not that my train fills up with schoolchildren, it’s that a lot of people take leave in the holidays. In theory they are all back tomorrow. And I have been enjoying having a seat and reading my way through the Narnia series too. Oh well, it was good while it lasted.

And in actual fact I haven’t been in Melbourne; I was in Sydney for work, where the weather looked like this:

Yes it’s the middle of winter in Sydney too. Yes I was wearing long sleeves, but not long sleeves plus a coat plus a scarf plus arm warmer/glove things. It’s times like this I can see the attraction of Sydney, I really can. And I also found a fantastic IGA with heaps of my favourite Asian snacky things, like this:

It’s a cowboy! Who is also perhaps some type of pretzel! I haven’t eaten him yet, but I’ll keep you informed.


I have good intentions here, I really do. But it’s dark so early and there’s so much work to do at work and I don’t get home until late and I don’t feel all that interesting, most of the time. Also I’m about to go interstate for a week which will leave another hole in this here blog thing.

What’s been going on? Death, that’s what.

  • Michael Jackson. I can honestly say I have no emotion about this at all. I liked his music when I was a kid, and he was a good dancer, but he was a nutbar. I felt a bit sorry for him, to be honest; like he was surrounded by yes-men who would never straight-up tell him that his behaviour was not childlike and innocent but instead weird and creepy.
  • Farrah. Nice lady. Cancer’s a bummer. But she was a bit before my time, so she never really impinged upon my consciousness. I liked her style and her guts, but again, she’s a stranger.
  • My grey cat, who was hit by a car and killed on Wednesday. I am heartbroken, we are all heartbroken, so much so that I would not even mention it here, except that you would notice the lack of photos of him. I’m sorry little grey.

Argh. Sucks, right? I feel as if I’m constantly bummering people out at the moment. I have now taken a short break to compose myself and I am back. Would you like to hear about my wedding instead? Of course you would. You may even be judgemental if you like (and I feel bad that you feel bad about my cat so I have now added in links to add to your judgy pleasure). Please, I would appreciate the judgementalness. Everyone bends over backward to love everything I’m suggesting, then when I finally pick one everyone is like, “oh yes that is definitely the best choice. I didn’t like the other choices at all.” Well then you should have SAID SO when I was trying to make a CHOICE. It would have been HELPFUL. Anyway. Turns out almost all the Australians we’ve invited are coming over (crazy. Wow. CRAZY.) and we are extremely pleased and excited, but I’m sort of apologetic that the wedding is therefore so… non-weddingy. I think as some sort of compensation, I’ve gone super-weddingy with the dress. Anyway:

  • Date is set, in October. Yes, that’s 6 months from engagement to wedding. Apparently this is weird. Or even insane, according to the eyebrows of one wedding dress consultant, which raised so high they disappeared into her hairline and nearly slid over the top of her skull. You may also judge, but probably with less skill.
  • Booked: Restaurant for reception (ensures no bridal table, first dance, bouquet toss or cringe-worthy garter thing), photographer, celebrant (probably). I know that ‘probably’ looks bad so feel free to judge on this point.
  • Invitations: from Etsy, being printed and shipped this week. I would have preferred to get this done locally (for shipping costs and my shitty exchange rate alone) but I really loved this design. Feel free to judge, especially the line about cake… I have had multiple questions and blank looks about it. Look, WE think we’re funny.
  • Dress: selected and about to be ordered from obscure Chinese website, once they send me a sample of the fabric (it’s ivory, not the very fetching silver in the link). Yes, I am getting a dress copied. It wasn’t so much the cost (although, really, that helped) but more the fact they can get it to me in a month; all the stores want sixteen weeks to order in a dress. I don’t have that amount of time (see: gravitating eyebrows, above, before I learned to tell them my wedding was in February 2010). So basically I used Melbourne’s premier bridal boutiques as a trying-on facility and was never likely to spend my money there. Judge away!
  • Ring: designed (modified slightly from original ring) and ordered yesterday. All the money ‘saved’ on the dress went directly into the ring. Don’t tell Mr T, who thinks it was just ‘saved’. Judging potential: it’s got a gap in it (a gap! in our loooove!) and I’m only having one ring, so no engagement ring at all. Quelle horreur.
  • Shoes: Barefoot or flat shoes in the sand, then turquoise blue heels bought from the DFO outlet mall for $29. Blue! Continue to judge!
  • Jewellery: Earrings bought for $5 from, um, one of those mall chain jewellery shops. The judging! It burrrrns!

Are we done? I think we’re done. I’ll give you more opportunities to judge as it happens, I’m sure. Feel free to be backhanded in your judging, like, “It’s so nice you feel secure enough to wear coloured sandals, when an elegant ivory shoe would be such a lovely choice!”

milk chocolate horse

I know, right? I’m going to just post here like I didn’t just disappear for ages. And really I’m only here to say I’m going away for a week. WHAT SORT OF A BLOG IS THIS I DEMAND A REFUND. Clearly not all parties are living up to their ends of the bargain here, if you know what I mean. And I think you do. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes, I’m going away for a week, overseas for work. To a WAR ZONE. OK, maybe not the actual war zone itself, but definitely a country on the No Travel list. It’ll be fine, of course. The worst of it is my arm really hurts from the vaccinations. My doctor was positively gleeful stabbing those things in. “Work’s paying for this, you say? Get inoculated for this as well! And this too! Just in case!” The things I am protected from do not include swine flu, bird flu or any other sort of flu; so of course I shall be seated adjacent to the most coughing, hacking person on the plane. Oh, and to keep the coughers at bay I bought a fake travel engagement ring from ebay. It was listed as a “child’s ring”. Oh yes. Apparently my ring finger is similar to that of “a child 3-4 years old”. Now, that CAN’T be right. I am short, true, but my fingers are not particularly small. I would say they are positively stubby, in fact. And yet I am wearing a fake gold ring with a fake emerald in it like some sort of fake 4 year old. Oh well. At least if I lose it down the drain I can throw a tantrum.

Brown Dog Update: He’s fine. He wants you to know that he’s hungry and would like some ice cream.

Wedding Update: Tried on dresses. Eh. Not feeling it. Mr T ordered a titanium wedding ring and isn’t overly impressed, so will return it. Date is set; venue is booked; photographer is booked. Please note my mum did the entire last bit, while all I did was to trip over multiple bridal petticoats and nearly garotte myself with the lace overlay.

Oh, and Photo Update: Don’t you love it when what you’re cooking turns out just like the picture?

Mr T’s brunch masterpiece (some sort of fluffy apple pancake) (I typed pantcake first) (not as tasty)

The original, from delicious magazine. OK admittedly they have a nicer cast iron frypan than me, and a much more stylish kitchen, but COME ON. Close.

lemon shortbread

I return! Thanks for your kind wishes; they are much appreciated. I told my family about the engagement rather offhandedly, thinking it was such an obvious step that nobody would be surprised – turns out everyone is WILDLY EXCITED and treating it like a huge event. Thinking about it, it’s probably because everyone thought we would never get around to it at all. And they would not be wrong. But here we are, and there are millions of bookmarks on my computer for things that I never even knew existed a month ago. Actually I’m quite glad people are excited as we’re having the wedding in New Zealand, which means that others need to do all my running around for me. Apparently they’re enjoying doing it, so it’s win-win. As for the planning. let’s get it all down here. Skip to the next part for dogs if that’s your preference.

  • Date: Narrowed to two (09/09 and 10/10; it’s a family tradition for me and yes 09/09/09 is a Wednesday. Your point?)
  • Venue: One of the many beachside restaurants of Auckland. Mr T’s only request is to have the ceremony on a beach in bare feet, which is fine by me. I don’t want or need a huge dedicated reception venue as the guest list is just…
  • Guest List: Approx 50, plus about 8 children (I wanted smaller but am not fretting about it)
  • Broidesmaid: My sister
  • Best Man: Mr T’s oldest school friend, for whom he was best man a few years ago
  • Dress: Liking a tea length, Audrey Hepburn style in my head. However I am yet to try one on; will no doubt find out I look nothing like AH and weep overwrought tears… “BUT OI’M THE BROIDE!”
  • Hair: Scrunched up into a bun thing with a flower. An old family friend will do my hair and makeup, such as it is. Tick.
  • Flowers: Either my aunt or someone’s 92-year old grandmother will do the flowers. Low on my priority list so this suits me fine. Please don’t ask any more details on the grandmother as I’m hazy myself.
  • Ring: Looking tomorrow, but I am notoriously fussy and can’t find anything I like. Almost all diamond solitaires do nothing for me, which leaves me with much less to choose from.

OK that’s as far as I’ve got. You may all open your eyes now and look at this photo of My Dog:

Can you see? It’s not very clear in the photo, unfortunately, but his left leg (on the right of the photo) is about twice the size of his right (on the left). The vet said it’s either a ligament thing, or a sprain, or a fracture, or, you know, bone cancer. Ah. Good. Here, have $500 to have a closer look with x-rays. They didn’t knock him out for the x-rays (my good placid dog) and have ruled out cancer (big relief) and any fracture, but we still don’t know what it is. Hey, haven’t I just HAD a really sick dog? I’m pretty sure I don’t need another one, thanks. So far our treatment strategy consists of grabbing his head, pulling his face really close and saying firmly, “DON’T HAVE CANCER.” It seems to be working.