But Daddy, we're SHARING!!!

Anyone who has welcomed a hound into the household as a fully fledged member knows that they are soon the boss of life in general.

Such is the case with our current canid resident who believes that she alone is the arbiter of right and wrong within the confines of the four walls of our home.

Although reluctant to offer us space in her comfortable doggy beds (yes, there are more than one of them... shut up!), Gypsy is more than happy to share OUR furniture with us because after all, we are FAMILY.

Rick has become the unfortunate butt of the jokes when it comes to our dogs over the years. Smokey, our first furry child, was a fond visitor to his pillow. He would lie upon it, lick it and steal it for himself. Sometimes, he would craftily sneak down into the covers, make a U-turn and then lie down on his back with his head on Rick's pillow and his front paws extended over the covers like a small, hirsute child. And he would smile with his brilliant, Pepsodent white teeth showing as if to say "Thanks, Dad, this is mighty comfy!"

Gypsy has a slightly different take on it all.

She sneaks and insinuates herself into various places in the house. Not content to lie upon the bed in Daddy's spot, Gypsy steals his pillow, tosses it high into the air, body slams it and apparently, from what we have both ascertained and seen in actual demonstration, does cannonballs on the bed itself. Because we have an air mattress type bed, and because we each have our own settings, it is patently obvious that she prefers the "spongy" side of the bed where Rick sleeps to perform her death defying gymnastics. That is the place where the divots remain when she has exhausted her repertoire of mind boggling feats that the circus can only dream of duplicating.

In addition to the bed stealing and frequent cover hogging that Gypsy enjoys. She has taken a liking to various other furniture in the house. Most notably is her fondness for napping in "Daddy's chair". Daddy's chair is a navy blue, floral wing back living room chair that we purchased secondhand when the first secondhand chair died an untimely death.

This chair is admittedly comfortable, but I have trouble getting out of it because it is TOO comfortable. Plus the angle of my knees to my hips when I am buried in it makes getting up a trifle difficult. I seldom use this chair. That was, apparently, an open invitation for use by other household members and Jared was NOT first in line.

At first, Gypsy would stealthily creep up into the chair paw by paw as if it was some sort of night maneuver of a guilty looking paramilitary force. There was scarcely a sound of the compression of the cushion as she would insert her body into the chair's comfortable space. She would look around to see if scolding was to follow and when she was assured that it was not forthcoming, Gypsy would settle down and close her eyes with a victoriously smug smile on her face.

When she would hear Rick's footfall, she would rouse and leap from the chair to prevent recrimination and discipline.

But now, age and seniority have apparently kicked in. She has overheard us discussing the ratio of human to canine years and is smart enough to do the math. She is the senior citizen of the household and as such feels fully justified in asserting her "right" to the chair.

Gypsy is smart enough to understand that Daddy doesn't WANT to share his chair and cunning enough to enforce her will upon him. Naturally, she will reluctantly move herself from his chair and come to me for reassurance when Daddy scolds her for leaving her furry butt marks all over HIS domain.

Gypsy doesn't mind. Literally. She does NOT mind. As soon as he leaves the chair to go get a drink, visit the bathroom or just get a book from the back, Gypsy slides up into his chair with a triumphant glee that rivals anything Cleopatra ever considered. She is queen of the chair, just like Cleopatra claimed queen of the Nile status. The big difference is that Gypsy bows to no one in her quest for comfort.

That Rick is deprived of a place to sit means NOTHING to her. Gypsy just stretches out, arches her back and looks dolefully upon him as he banishes her from the furniture yet again. She knows she will be back. McArthur-like, she will be back to claim the beachhead and establish her landing craft on the soft cushions.

She thinks they are SHARING.

Or at least that is the impression she wants us to believe. In reality, this cunning hound knows that sharing isn't the modus operandi at all. Chair dominance is the name of the game. She plans to have the chair for herself any time she desires to use it.

Our comfort doesn't matter to her at all.

Not one whit

Because, with her guilty little chocolate brown eyes, she tells him "But Daddy, we are sharing... on MY terms!"

God is good!

The pathology report is back:

NO CANCER!

God is good and I am so thankful!

Slice, dice and pathology

Post op report.... the doc thinks that he got it all. A nice little lump of suspicion and conjecture.

Very superstitious... and the little lump turned out bigger than anticipated. Surprise.

So now, we await the report on pathology on just what they carved out and what comes next.

I now have a small valley in my left breast.

But I AM STILL HERE.

And regardless of what comes next, I'm not done yet.

I'm ready to keep going. Like the mean little girl I am, I'm fighting for my life the only way I know how... I fight dirty.

The pain medicine is keeping me comfortably loopy and the shower yesterday took most of the "oompa loompa" betadyne wash off of my skin. The bruising on my body isn't too bad.

My right arm looks like a gorilla was in charge of the blood pressure readings during surgery. And this lovely "surgical bra" that I came home in as a parting gift from the procedure is zero fun. It's itchy and scratchy and, dang it all, necessary.

I'll go back to see the doc on the 16th to see what he has to say next.

Pathology should be back about mid-week and we'll see what they cultured up from the mess they removed in surgery.

Time to shower and go back to bed.

Nap time.