It's "Fall" in More Ways Than One

So yeah, I took a bit of an extended blogging break. Leisurely summer days will do that to a person. But honestly, with the plethora of social media material vying for attention (Facebook! Cat videos! The Kardashians!), I really didn't think anyone would notice. 

That's why I was surprised and moved when the emails started coming in.  "Where are you?" they asked. "Is everything okay?" "Have you stopped writing?" 

Wow, thanks. It's nice to be missed. 

About the Dog
Several readers asked about my second dog, which I referenced earlier this year. I had every intention of getting one. Placed my request with Golden State Greyhound Adoption. Was about to order the customized name tag (I had a gender-friendly name already picked out), and doubled my next order of heartworm medicine through Fosters & Smith. 

Oh yes, I was ready. Except for one disturbing little detail that kept niggling in the back of my brain. 

I was starting to fall. I don't mean a slight stumble, either.  I mean flat-on-my-keister, kissing the pavement, people-running-over-to-help-me, full-frontal-belly-flop falling. Over the past two months I've fallen four or five times--I'm losing count. Two weeks ago I fell and cracked my right hand, which is now in a splint. Worse yet, I tore a hole in the knee of my favorite jeans (hey, c'mon, a good pair of jeans is hard to find!).  

I can't blame the dog. With each fall, Hazel was trotting obediently by my side, occasionally turning her head around to look up at me with heart-shaped pupils that expressed just how happy she was to be outdoors walking alongside her human when...SPLAT. Suddenly she was looking down at me instead of up, waiting patiently for me to get back on my feet so we could resume our walk.

Yes, it's the Blood Thingie that I wrote about a couple years ago. The mysterious blood disorder that has been causing neuropathy in both feet. Pending genetic testing that was done three weeks ago, we're on the verge of finally confirming a diagnosis, but in the meantime my neuropathy has worsened.  I've lost feeling in both legs up to mid-calf, which, as you might imagine, makes walking difficult. I can do it--I'm not at the cane or walker stage yet--but it's painful. My legs are heavy, weighted, like I'm walking through waist-deep water, and every step feels like I'm walking barefoot on a floor of thumbtacks. I often stagger too,like maybe I've had one martini too many.  

And since I live in a hilly neighborhood with lots of pine cones and acorns, coupled with uneven sidewalks and very poor street lighting, a walk is not a walk anymore, but a hazardous obstacle course that I hope to survive in one piece.  One dog is all I can handle at the moment.  

But I'm getting my second dog fix in other ways, which also helps Hazel stay exercised and socialized. I'm meeting up with fellow greyhound owners for shared walks and exchanged dog-sitting services. In the process,  I've made some great new friends like Nicole and her sweet black hound, Nadeen, who has stinky breath and loves to give kisses.  Nor is a second dog off the table permanently. Since stairs might eventually become an issue, a one-story home might be in my future, maybe one with a larger yard with plenty of room for two dogs to play and exercise.

Best of all, I found a good tailor who was able to patch my jeans so you can hardly see the hole. 

Hey, you've got to find the good in life and run with it, right?