Bingo T. Pug, Therapy Dog.

I planned my visit to Linda Lou in the hospital so that I would get there in the late afternoon, so Bingo T. Pug would not have to sit in the hot car. Naturally, the nurse had a different plan, instead of Linda Lou coming right down in her wheelchair, they stuck another round of antibiotics into her IV line, we had to wait. And wait. And wait some more. It's not all bad news, it still looks like there is no infection from having that screw sticking out through the skin. And, since the last surgery, I can no longer say that she has a screw loose. (Which makes me wonder why she still keeps me.)

Well, anyhow, I needed a cup of coffee so I went downstairs, they have a pot of hospital coffee but I have my own brew in a thermos. Since the days when we had to be real careful not to make our morning coffee in the helmet that everyone had washed his feet in the night before, I've been picky about my coffee. Stop the presses, though. As I was getting off the elevator, there was a guy with some critter that looked like a miniature Collie. Are there Mini collies? Anyhow, I stopped him, politely, and asked if that was an official certified therapy dog. He said, no, he's just our dog, and up they went on the elevator.

I give you, my three or four faithful readers, one guess as to my next move. Up Bingo T. Pug and I went. I am not quite sure who was leading whom on that lead, either. Linda Lou was surprised, but pleased. When the IV bag of antibiotics was empty we had to wait a while because it was shift change and they were all busy talking. Eventually, though, the nurse came in to disconnect the bag and flush the line, she had nothing awful to say about Bingo T. Pug, therapy dog. This particular nurse is an Americanized daughter of Viet Namese immigrants, 40+ years ago I would have been really making my best moves. Pretty young woman.

Anyhow, although Linda Lou insisted on taking the camera, we forgot to take any pictures. Once we were clear of IV lines, we went downstairs and sat outside, I finally got my coffee.Alas, too soon, it was time to drive home.The extra fifty miles one way added to the trip between the hospital and home, as compared to the hospital closer to home, makes a huge difference. Not to mention the three visits per week to my physical terrorists, speaking of whom, for some reason the torture was worse today. There was no particular difference, it just hurt more. My Physical Terrorists could make the worst of the AlQ types sing like canaries. Ah well, I think there are supposed to be ups and downs. And I went in with a stitch in my back. Poor little me.

Anyhow, I survived today's PT and came home for an almost four hour nap, I awakened with Cochise' Apache Princess and Bingo T. Pug laying with me, as soon as I moved I had both of them wanting ear scritches. The excitement of my life continues to amaze me.