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September 17, 2016

I was going to write about these “baby blues” and how this is the third day that has ended in floods of regretful, guilty tears. I was going to write how I’ve become afraid of the night because it means getting even less sleep than in the day. Instead, I’m just going to work backward. 

Gilligan (see banner photo above) was being weird. He tried to bite me this morning and wouldn’t let me come near him. I thought it was the baby adjustment. He hid under the bed and I let it go. Everyone has their own process, right? 

We went to a 2 year old’s birthday party and came home to find Gilly shaky and twitching in the bathroom. The twitches seemed related to blinking so I thought it could be something in his eye. I decided to check. 

Cue Cujo. Snarling and snapping. And no, he’s not *that* kind of chihuahua, thank you very much. 

Cyrus and our friend Tony took him to the emergency vet. 

Where they ran tests. 

And a blood screen. 

To find. 

That my tiny dog. 

Was high. 

HIGH. 

On thc and pcp. 

He’s fine. We don’t know how he could have gotten it, but haven’t had a chance to inspect the yard in the daylight yet. 

Of course I cried Claire Dane in My So Called Life sobs. I don’t know who I am without that damn dog. 

And then I nursed both my kids at the same time and thought, maybe things are better than I know. 

I’m getting there, y’all. 

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