Harper - 11 months

Harper is now 11 months old and fast on his way to 1 year old!

Harper's Bouncey Seat

Harper is really enjoying his bouncey swing which hangs over the door trim in any door way. He bounces and bounces. It is the only time that he really entertains himself for over 30 minutes at a time (he is kind of spoiled and used to being held).

My Three Legged Pug

This is Chug the Pug, my three legged pug who is now a 3 legged pug with a broken front leg. We have nicknamed him the penguin. He twisted out of two peoples' arms at the vet and broke his other front leg. He broke his other front leg the day I brought my baby Harper home from the hospital. He fell out of bed. We had to amputate it because it was broken too badly. Now, my worst nightmare, his other front leg was compromised. Well, as you can see, he is doing well.

I wrote a story about Chug, enjoy!

Chug the Pug – The Children’s Book

In the deep, dark woods of Florida there was a home for dogs without homes.

The home was owned by Peggy who loved all animals. Peggy’s home was starting to crumble because she had too many dogs without homes. The dogs needed food and Peggy had no money to spend to repair her roof

To repair her floors

And when it rained in the woods, Peggy felt the rain inside.

Peggy advertised the lost dogs on the internet. One of her favorite lost dogs was a pug named Chug the Pug.

Chug was sad because he didn’t have an owner to love. He loved Peggy but he knew that she wasn’t his owner for life.

Chug dreamed of having a forever home.

Chug remembered when he had a family of his own. He had a mom, a dad and a baby.

But Chug’s first family forgot all about him when the baby was born.

Chug waited for them in the back yard to come back from the hospital but they never came.

Finally, Chug left the backyard and went to look for help. He was so sad, his hair fell out and his beard turned from black to gray.

He was too young to have gray hair. He was only one year old and all alone.

That is when Peggy found Chug wandering the streets and took him to her home in the woods.

Chug waited and waited for his forever family to find him.

Finally, one rainy day in February, a car pulled into the driveway. Out of the car came a man and a woman

And a pug named Bruce.

They were looking for a brother for Bruce.

Chug waited inside with the other dogs. They all waited in their cages, wondering who the family had come to see.

Peggy walked from cage to cage.

Finally, she came to Chug’s cage. He looked at her, wondering if today was his day.

Yippee! She opened up his cage. Chug tore around the house in circles. He saw his new mom, Leslie and his new dad Austin. Then, he met his brother Bruce.

Chug could not stop wiggling his tail.

Chug went to his forever home. He had a huge yard to play in and plenty of food for everyone.

Chug gained lots of weight and his hair grew back.

He even got to sleep in bed with mommy and daddy every night.

Then one day, his mommy and daddy told him he they were having a baby.

Chug was excited because he loved babies but worried that just like last time, his family would forget him once the baby came.

His mommy’s tummy grew bigger and bigger and then one day, she went to the hospital.

Chug waited with his brother Bruce for his mommy and daddy to come home.

Finally, the door opened and in walked mommy, daddy and new baby.

Chug was so excited. He wiggled and wiggled.

Then, he went to bed with mommy and daddy. The baby was in the bassinet next to the bed.

In the middle of the night, Chug heard the baby crying.

He got up to see if he could lick the baby to make the baby happy and stop the baby from crying.

All of the sudden, Chug slipped off the bed and landed on his shoulder.

He cried out YELP! He was in pain and his leg was not working.

Daddy and Mommy ran to help him. Daddy said his leg was broken.

Mommy started crying.

Daddy rushed him to the Emergency Vet.

Then they rushed him to the bone vet who specialized in broken bones.

They told them the sad news. Chug would have to make it with three legs. His broken leg had to come off.

Mommy and Daddy were so sad. They cried and cried.

Chug did not know why they were crying.

Chug went in for his operation. He came out with three legs.

After two days in the hospital Chug got to come home. Everyone was waiting for him. Mommy, Daddy and Bruce.

Bruce licked him and told him how much he missed him.

Chug couldn’t believe all the fuss. He was able to do everything he used to do with three legs.

He could still hop around, play and cuddle.

Everyone kept telling him he was no longer Chug the Pug, he was Chug the WONDER Pug.

I am a hypochondriac

According to the dictionary, hypochondria is the persistent conviction that one is or is likely to become il, often involving symptoms when illness is neither present nor likely, and persisting despite reassurance and medical evidence to the contrary. A hypochondriac is a person affected with hypochondria. I began doing some research on the issue when I was married and I guess when you are married you started discussing your problems with your spouse and their problems become your problems and when my husband stated that he thought I might be a hypochondriac, it caused me to look at do some retrospective self-analysis. I would have to say that “it” (the beginning of my persistent convictions) all started when I was young and had bladder problems. I recall being pulled out of bed in the middle of the night because I wet the bed AGAIN. I would be taken on what I thought was a secret late night mission with my parents. Where were we going, why so late? I realized we were going to the doctor and I realized quickly that the doctor meant a lot of attention for me. Nurses would give me suckers and ask me questions and call me sweetie or honey. I liked the doctors more than the nurses. From an early age I learned that a doctor’s role was to listen to me and listen carefully. So when I got a brother at age three, I think I realized that I had to go the extra step to get attention. But I was a pretty healthy kid. But I wanted to be sick, I wanted something to be wrong with me. My parents love to tell the story about me and the baby Tylenol and I remember it clearly. I was just three or four years old and I really liked the taste of baby Tylenol. I distinctly remember going into our bathroom, getting out the baby Tylenol that had a dropper application and I drank the whole bottle. I then went and told my parents that I would NEVER get sick again. They asked how come and I explained. Then I got my stomach pumped. In First Grade, Melissa Betran knocked my front tooth out on the playground. I remember lying in the nurses room on her bed and every single one of my classmates had to come in and give me a get well card. Even Melissa. I remember she had to apologize and she was crying. It was great. The next event I recall occurred when I was in fourth grade. I decided that I wanted glasses and began complaining to my parents that I could not see to read. They took me to the optometrist. I distinctly recall “throwing” the exam so that I could get glasses. I think all of my friends had glasses (even though they hated them, I wanted them). At some point during the exam I began to panic and realized I did not want glasses. I managed to get my act together just in time to be determined “borderline” and not needing glasses. In Fifth grade I got mononucleosis. I had no idea what attention was until I got mono. I stayed home for over a month. All I could eat was beef broth and scrambled eggs. I became addicted to General Hospital. My father would come home at 10 am, noon at 2 pm during the day to check on me. I would quickly turn off the soap operas (they were not allowed) and resume my half asleep look on the couch. Now don’t get me wrong, I was REALLY sick but I loved the attention. I remember begging to go back to school and my parents telling me it was too soon. One of my first days back I recall walking down the hallway and all of the sudden someone told me I turned white and then I fainted. My parents rushed to the school, I had a bruise on my face. Strict words from my parents that we were not going to rush this “school thing” and I would be staying home until they decided I was well enough to go half days. I felt really loved. Thinking back on how all of my real and fake illnesses transpired, I realized that I get my hypochondria from my father. My grandmother (my mother’s mother) had a good friend Stu who lived on her couch from time to time. He was a roofer but also a drinker and my grandma always said that those two things did not go together very well. Often Stu would be passed out on my Grandma’s sofa. Stu sort of became a fixture in my Grandma’s living room. Sometimes sober and nice to carry a conversation along with and sometimes not. It was my freshmen year in high school when Stu’s health took a turn for the worse. He was a big smoker and when he began to lose a significant amount of weight in a short time and cough up blood, I guess we all just thought the obvious—cancer. I remember when my Grandma called to tell me that Stu went to the hospital and that he was transferred to Iowa City (that was where the University hospital was located and if you went to the University hospital, it was serious). I expected my grandma to tell me that Stu had Cancer, but instead she told me he had been quarantined for tuberculosis. My mind raced. I knew this disease was contagious. Highly contagious. I seemed to recall it was deadly. Quarantined. Yes, I recalled that they had special hospitals for these people in the 1950s where they kept them all in solitude until they died off and the disease was allegedly eradicated from the United States. Well, instant tears fell from my face. Not for Stu, for me. My Grandma explained that the head of the hospital was out of town for the weekend and we could not be sure until he returned, but that the attending physician believed it was TB. My mother happened to be out of town that weekend (she will tell people it was the one and only time she left home with girlfriends for a weekend away from her family). I called her with the devastating news. Her entire family and herself were likely infected with TB. I distinctly remember my dad saying “it is highly contagious, if he has it, your grandmother has it and we all have it.” I raced to the encyclopedia (1978 version we got at a garage sale but let’s face it, the TB section has not been updated since the 1960s, so it didn’t matter). I read up on the disease I was certain I had and waited for my mother to return home. According to the dictionary, you could tell if you had TB if it was difficult to breathe and your chest felt heavy. Oh, I had it. I spent the entire weekend obsessing. My family loves to tell this story and especially when I announced tearfully over dinner that if anyone had to have TB, it should be me. After my weekend is of torture is over, we learn that Stu actually had lung cancer not TB. I was so relieved.