A glorious week of warm weather in Alberta has presented Catie with an unexpected dilemma.
Like the world’s diminishing glaciers, the snow on the deck day-by-day narrowed to a thin ribbon no longer sustainable for the effortless pee breaks she’s become accustomed to since the beginning of her illness. She squatted precariously at several locations last evening before admitting defeat and hopping down the three steps into the yard, just when Riley had been starting to think it was now his private domain.
Catie’s appetite’s been uneven this week. Some normal golden voraciousness mixed with some uncommon apathy. The bouts of mealtime disinterest, naturally, worry me (because that’s what I do very well) and befuddle Riley (who can’t imagine not being excited about food).
Catie, to my ever suspicious eye, has been a bit tired. She’s also had some frightful flatulence.
Like right now. As I type. Good grief. Even Riley has left the room.
I’m close behind him.