I’ve been sick in bed with the flu since around 6AM this morning, leaving the bedroom only for emptying the contents of my bowels in a manner that I would not wish upon anyone, and to let the dog out to pee. At first I chalked the unhappiness up to a few days of eating too many leftover christmas cookies and caramel corn, but this is definitely full-blown flu. The kind that makes every square inch of your body recoil in horror at the slightest thought of having to move. The kind of flu that makes every strand of hair on your head ache.
On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being me feeling completely healthy and 1 being delirious with fever and tempted to bury myself in the neighbor’s snowbank, I started out at a 2 this morning. After a shower, Theraflu, and a frozen tasteless dinner from the freezer, I’m at a 4.
On top of it all, Scott’s been working all day and will most of tonight. Everything seems amplified when you’re sick, doesn’t it? The very notion of having to take care of a dog, or any living thing for that matter, seems insurmountable. Newman’s been barking at God Knows What for the last half hour. I’m half-hoping if there’s a burglar outside, he won’t mind making me a cup of tea before he robs the house.
I’m sure it’s not the first time I’ve been sick since Newman came into my life, but I can’t remember the last time I was this sick. And it turns out that he does NOT care that I do not want to engage in a game of fetch with him, or chase him across the room or pull him down from Scott’s dresser, which is his new favorite place to be. We lovingly refer to it as “The Abyss,” full of receipts, mail, miscellaneous bits of clothing, and to Newman’s delight, cough drops.
I’m fairly sure that it’s not recommended that your dog consume cough drops, but I saw him chow down on a few rabbit turds yesterday, and he seems just fine. Another reason why I would make a great parent.
