On Wednesday afternoon I bawled in front of one of my favorite co-workers. It was the hitched breathing, ear drum-bursting sobbing, trying-to-hold-back-but-just-can't, disgusting kind of crying. I thought for sure Lucy was going to die on Wednesday night, before I could get home to say goodbye.

I just returned home from a weekend, which is one of the best weekends I can remember. I was up at 6am both on Saturday AND Sunday and I couldn't be happier about it. Lucy is improving so much that (dare I say it?) I think she might be getting better. She eats now and goes for walks and chases squirrels and plays ball and the only thing wrong with her is some (very) shallow breathing. That vet just might have been incorrect in her dead-dog diagnosis. Perhaps God doesn't just save miracles for the human kind.

This weekend Lucy and I went for walks and I visited Brody and Audrey and went to see my grandma and watched a ship come in the harbor. The highlight of the weekend, however (other than Lucy's miraculous comeback), was my brother's challenged (ARFesque) dog being convinced that a stuffed animal was a real-life rodent that needed taking care of. I would show you an awfully entertaining video of it if I knew how. I don't mind showing you, to be honest, just because hearing my voice makes me want to puke all over my newly-washed clothing.

More another time about my hot boss forgetting his pants when he came to work on Friday.

Oh, Gooty.

As I write this, the world’s coolest dog, my very own Gooter delight, is in a chilly kennel at the vet’s office without her family, wondering why the hell we abandoned her. I bet she’s feeling bad for puking in the house too many times in the past few days and she thought we’d give her away to avoid having to clean up vomit. That’s what Darren and I are trying to do with Lenny, after all. However, this wouldn’t be the first time our little Contented Critter was abandoned.

But no. We love Lucy. Everyone loves her. And now she’s sick. Not only is she sick, I’m pretty sure she’s going to die and it is KILLING me that I can’t be home with her.

Just a couple of weeks ago my cousin’s dog got Blasto and went blind and Angie mentioned how hard it’s going to be when Lucy dies. I told her to just shut up, stop thinking about it, Lucy’s super happy and active and healthy and she isn’t going to die for years and years. Then Lucy got sick, stopped going for walks, started puking and stopped eating. Today my dad brought her to the vet for the fourth time in a week and this time they kept her. They are fighting whatever she has aggressively because another dog had the same symptoms last week and died. They have no idea what’s causing it.

I’ve spent the day crying and trying to hide my tears from co-workers, which isn’t easy as my work area is centrally located and passed by, well, everyone. All I can do is hope my munchkin pulls though, but I think it’s going to take a miracle.

I can't believe what a big part of my and my family's life Lucy has become. We talk about the first few days we had her and it feels like only months ago. I can’t imagine life without her. Watching our last dog, Sam, die is still the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. I think about it now, seven years later, and cry instantly. We got Lucy a week after Sam died and we pretty much hated her because she wasn’t what we were used to. She buried bones under magazines and bit feet and chewed on socks and peed on the carpet and shit on the driveway and didn’t come when we called her and didn’t know how to sit up or roll over and didn’t like to have her ears ironed. What kind of dog doesn't like to have her ears ironed?! We learned to love her and her quirkiness, though her behavior has also improved considerably. She has turned into the sweetest dog, falling all over us for a scratch behind the ear. Now it might be time to say goodbye and it makes me sick to think I might not be there to bid my final farewell. My poor father might lose his favorite child.

Forgive me if you don’t hear from me for a while.

St. Patrick is the coolest. What did he do with those snakes again?

And how did I not get a picture of Kelly? She looked so flippin' cute! It must have been the pending sobriety that appealed to my better sense and led me to put the camera in my purse and leave it there.

There are a lot of differences between northern Minnesota and the Twin Cities, not the least of which is the weather. If there is one thing I've learned, it's that it never snows in the Cities. Instead, there are "snow events." Major snow events, relatively major snow events and, well, flurries. I give to you my morning wait for the bus, courtesy of Bob Ross and his happy fucking trees...

This morning was considered a major snow event, as was evidenced by the 120 buses stuck in various snowbanks across this fair(ly polluted) land.

This picture is actually of Blake High School, as seen from my bus stop. Can't even see it, can you? Do you see all the snow and chilliness built up on the side of those trees? That very same thing built up on my neck, ear and the side of my face. I wore a ponytail this morning, sans hat, since the power was out and I couldn't blow dry my hair. I thought for sure I was going to lose an ear to frostbite.

I love Minnesota!

Last week it was 50 and sunny and I saw more than one eager beaver sauntering around in shorts and t-shirts. Mother Nature wrote, kids. She said not yet.

I enjoyed much slipping and sliding and ankle twisting and car dodging and mascara dripping today, but it kind of makes me think I might be ready for spring.

Anyone want a cat? He's always this cute, I promise.