Reader, I’m going to just keep my mouth shut, because the universe really seems to enjoy one-upping me lately. As soon as I said, “I would really like to not think about poop for a while,” Doc stopped pooping, developed symptoms of appendicitis, and ended up in the hospital for three days of IV antibiotics for diverticulitis.

Saturday his doctor was talking surgery (since there were micro perforations in his guts) but the antibiotics did their trick and he’s home now with intact intestines. He was a trooper for the whole thing and the nurses were all nice but we both just collapsed and slept like the dead when we got home yesterday.

(Not to be outdone, Toby’s insulin dose is still messing up his little guts so I would wake up to rush over to the hospital and discover more! poop! in creative places. [He gets to go to the vet tomorrow.])

I blogged years ago about “amor fati,” love of one’s fate, and I think my fate for the moment is poop and I’d better just embrace it.  Because look what Doc and I saw on a walk around the neighborhood last night: