Hello, it is I, speaking to you by typing laboriously on my phone from the whelping box. Daisy poppy has realized that I can be ordered into the box with her, and so now I am stuck here or she barks at me and then very significantly stands up while puppies yell. When I sit down, she stretches out and the puppies tank like I have not yet seen.
My bottom is completely numb and so far I have watched Fringe, Castle, some sugar challenge thing the kids recorded off Food Network, and am moving on to Alcatraz.
I anticipate scraping the bottom of the DVR menu with some heroic sports movie courtesy of Doug; I think it’s called “Hoosiers: The Rookie Miracle Surfer,” and I’ll probably be wiping my eyes on a corner of puppy blanket before it is over.
The ever-glamorous life of a breeder, I am telling you. Somehow in my unwashed stupor I am the drug that makes her milk let down. Not sure whether to be proud of that or question DP’s sanity. I do know I am pretty darn punchy and have memorized all the Fox ads. That House sure is tense and mean! And look how difficult and personal this case is!
Meanwhile here’s a picture I took when she let me get up to pee.