Today was an easy day to go back to work. I had about an hour of administrative stuff to do first thing, then an hour of training, then an hour-long team meeting, then a ninety-minute team lunch, then spent the afternoon coding inserts for my next book. Lots of folks stopped by to welcome me back and ask how I was doing, and Maresche got me a lovely set of jammies and some adorable Valentine's Day socks. The only sad note was that the young man who had been running the mailroom for us got fired on Friday.
Everyone who wants to work at Hyphenated Corp. has to take a drug test. Mailguy didn't get around to taking his until after the scheduled deadline (and all new hires are informed of the deadline before they start). I'm sure he passed, but because he waited too long, he was fired. I'm told he cried, and said how much he would miss everyone, and I know we will all miss him. When I got home today, there was a get-well card from everyone at work, and he had signed it. *sigh*
Bigfoot is bonking around the house knocking things over and bruising me at every opportunity. I've had to make special arrangements for the food and water dishes since the Collar of Shame makes it impossible for him to eat from the doggie "table" on the breezeway. He was very upset with me last night, as the doctor had said no dinner until 7 p.m. and of course he hadn't had breakfast because of the anesthesia. He was drama-queening all over the house, sighing, flopping, leaning against me so I could feel his ribs. He's still unhappy with the CoS, but he's in a better mood because he gets to eat, and he manages to jump up onto my bed for his many naps, so his life isn't that bad. Nine more days until the sutures come out.
4 comments:
You are lucky, I never could get the cone o'woe to stay on Tessa. She is signing and leaning too because she sees I am wearing work clothes. They are masters of emotional manipulation, aren't they?
Yes, they are. And we are putty in their paws.
*gives Tessa a scritch and some Starlight mints*
Nice to hear he nutbar is doing well, Jammies.
*HUGS* for you both.
Tell Bigfoot that he's one lucky dog -- not that he'll believe you.
I think all pets take some prenatal drama school training. Pose number 17, anyone? (When you see the movie "My Man Godfrey" -- and if you hang around me any longer, you will eventually see it -- that joke will suddenly make so much more sense.)
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