It Was Me, Not the Pigs

Dear John,

It wasn't the pigs that lay down and died, it was me. I've spent the day with a major fibro flare, and treating it with Netflix and Percocet. This evening I'm finally feeling a bit better.

We had another round of storms come through early this morning. Jethro woke me up, and was so agitated that I suspected thunder before I heard it. He got up on the bed, paced briefly, then sat down on my head and was much happier. I've gotten good at sleeping with him on my head, so I got some more sleep. He was there for the greater part of an hour.

I should probably be concerned about the increasing ease with which I can sleep with a 55-pound dog sitting on my head, but really I'm just relieved by it. I don't lose nearly as much sleep, and he's calm and happy. So it seems like a win-win situation. I can't imagine what it looks like, though. And I wonder what he would do if you were here, too. Would he sit on your head? Or would he be comfortable enough, with his Daddy here, to just lie down between us and feel safe? If so, life would be much less interesting to a large group of blog-readers. And you and I would have one less dog story to tell.

He's a sweetheart. And he misses you so much. He still runs in the closet, sticks his head all the way into one of your Nikes, takes a long deep breath, and wags his tail as hard as he can. And he perks his ears up whenever I say "Daddy." I'm so, so glad I got to bring him in to see you in ICU, for your sake and for his. I want to bring him to visit you when the weather cools off some. I don't know if he'll understand, but I wouldn't be surprised.

All of the mammals in the house miss you! We love you so much. Sleep good tonight - I hope none of us have to deal with thunderstorms.

Love you so much,

Joan.