I'm the the process of rearranging furniture in my office. As it is my desire to jam every inch of living space full of as much furniture as humanly possible (at least according to Fletch) there are still some un-homed items floating around the middle of the room. Presently I have a rolling office chair pulled up to the front of my desk and Maisy has climbed into it.
She's sitting upright on her haunches and facing me.
We appear to be having a meeting.
I keep cracking up as I consider what we might need to meet about, e.g. "Items on Maisy's Agenda."
1. Why U No Give Maisy More Cookies?
2. Maisy Prefer Make Poops In Front Yard And Care Not If U Think It Kind Of Ghetto.
3. Maisy Never Forget Time U Drop Pork Chop On Floor And Maisy Quicker Than U.
4. U Hurt Maisy Feelings When U Call Her "ArmpitBull." Maisy Not The One Too Lazy Give Baths And Maisy Tongue Only Capable Of Clean So Much.
5. Maisy Beg To Differ - Guest DO Want Maisy Jump All Over Them.
Speaking of Maisy, she's doing really well. Her stitches are healing up nicely and she's in her usual high spirits. She was extra-snuggly the first night she came home, but outside of that, she acts like nothing ever happened.
The pathology reports are in and the surgeon was able to remove all the tumors with enough margin around them, so that's excellent news. Apparently there are three levels of classification of mast cell tumors - Level One is basically nothing and Level Three is a huge deal. Level Two covers a broad spectrum of severity from little to high and that's what her tumors were. This means we need to consult with the canine oncologist on preventative measures. But if sounds like as long as we're vigilant on checking for new growths, we should be able to catch them in time, so... whew.
Now all we need to work on is keeping her from sharting herself every time one of the Thundercats hisses...
