Where Chester Lives

So, Chili is healing nicely. ***WARNING -- Graphic Wound Description Ahead***

If you are satisfied knowing that he is doing okay, you can stop reading. If you cannot help but read on, do so at your own peril.

When he got the drain line out on October 12th (It's that latex thing in the picture of the previous post), there was a small hole at the top and bottom of the stitched areas. These holes were still weeping, but the wound site is an awkward place for a bandage. We took him back to the vet the following day because of the continual seeping and he had pulled the top stitch out overnight. The vet put four staples in the top of his incision and one at the bottom. We brought him home and were having a difficult time keeping him from trying to scratch the wound. I did NOT want him to tear those things out...more heartache, more damage to the little guy, and more vet bills. We called the vet and they recommended putting a sweater on him and putting a child's sock around his hind leg to keep him from scratching. While the sweater idea was pure genius, the sock thing didn't work out at all...the tape pulled at very sensitive skin areas and his mobility was very awkward. I wish I had gotten a picture, though. It was pretty funny watching him try to walk around. So, we took the sock off and the sweater did the trick. However, the wound continued to weep for several days, which meant frequent sweater changes and laundering (gross, I know). Also, we couldn't leave him home by himself because I was still catching him try to scratch and who KNOWS what he would have tried if we were all gone. He got his stitches out last Friday, the 19th, but the staples are still in. He truly looks like FrankenDog. Teresa even bought him a Frankenstein doggy costume for Hallowe'en. He still has the sweater on, mostly to keep Chester from trying to lick the wound. In every other aspect, he is behaving normally.

Which means that this incident has taught him nothing. I love him, but he is one dumb dog.

I have a confession to make.

I am powerless to the allure of the Cinnabon.  The sticky sweetness of this heavenly roll is a siren song to me.  Luckily, I am rarely in close proximity; it is only during those infrequent times that I am in a mall or an airport that I succumb to this.  I know that they are bad for me.  BAD.  But they are soooooo good (nom, nom, nom).  I could eat them until I became physically ill, and then I could eat them again a few hours later.  This is not an exaggeration...it is a known and established fact.  The cinnabon represents the purest balance of sugary cinnamon, sweet sticky icing, and yeast-puffed dough; and it holds a power over me that I cannot shake.  There is no cure, the only remedy is complete avoidance.  Even then, it invades my dreams.  I bring this up because, while in Dayton and in transit to/from, I had a total of five cinnabons in as many days.  My weight also jumped a few pounds...this is no coincidence.  I must get back to riding.  I MUST.

Okay, I have another confession to make, this one a bit more embarrassing.

I would like to pretend that I am some intellectual being with advanced taste in culture, music, and literature.  And I like those things, no question.  However, I also like the completely formula and mundane "chick flick."  It is rare that I watch one of these romantic comedies and not thoroughly enjoy myself.  Last night was a case in point.  We watched Must Love Dogs, a movie about two divorcees looking for love through Internet dating sites, starring Diane Lane and John Cusack.  I was INTO IT.  I laughed at all the jokes, got all googly when it got sappy, and I had a good time.  I've always had a weakness for movies; they transport me almost every time and I enjoy them regardless of their craft, talent, or plot.  When I watched Day After Tomorrow I was walking around the living room rubbing my arms in the middle of summer.  When I watched Elizabethtown, I sobbed like a child at the end.  Oh, the great movies really touch me, too.  And after I have watched a movie, I can intelligently compare one to the next and determine what's bad and what's good.  However, during the moment, the portion of my brain that makes these judgments is turned off and I am completely enraptured.  It is very rare that I am watching a movie and have full realization of how bad it is while I am in the moment (Phantom Menace comes to mind).

Admitting I have a problem is the first step on the long road to recovery.

In other news, I have a goal to completely rebuild my Gallery this week to make it load quicker.  Wish me luck.

It turns out I was right.  During the evening on October 1, the deal between Symyx and Elsevier was finalized, and they took ownership of MDL.  On October 2nd, they laid off 30% of MDL's workforce.  My co-workers who were affected include:  Brad Clark, John Bonifacio, Sam Gonzalez, Li Zhang, Matt Mooningham, and finally, Howard Abels.  This represents a significant portion of the mind-share in our department, especially the loss of Howard.  When they let him go, they let go the one guy with the vision to enable the company's growth in the online business space, which is where the market is growing.  Frankly, that was a poor decision.

So, where does this leave me?  As of right now, I have a job as a network admin with Symyx and am part of thier global IT team.  I was retained in my current position at my current salary.  The IT group at Symyx is is largely a good group of folks, but the environment is very different.  We'll see...

I'm thankful that I get to continue to earn a paycheck, but I also realize that if I become un-happy (er), then my recourse is to go elsewhere WITHOUT the severance package.  That makes me kind of wish that I had been part of that lay-off.

The sale is final, but all options for me are on the table.

So, Monday afternoon Chili dug out of our yard and worked his way into a neighbor's yard, where he got attacked by their two Akitas. Of course, we do not blame our neighbors...Chili was the one dumb enough to do something like that, and the other dogs were defending their territory. Luckily for Chili, during the attack some stuff got knocked over and blocked the bigger dogs' access to him. Emma found him like that. Teresa brought him home and noticed he was limping. He had a few puncture wounds around his shoulders, one that looked deep and serious, so the vet was called. As it turns out, one of the Akitas had picked Chili up and shook him, with one tooth puncturing his shoulder all the way to the bone. During the shaking, this tore some muscles away from the bone and Chili had to have surgery. We were all very upset, even our checking account. He spent Monday and Tuesday at the vet and we picked him up this morning. Poor little guy...he has a little cone on his head and a three inch incision on his shoulder with a drain line that they will remove on Saturday. we have to keep him separate from Chester, so he is currently laying on his bed in a dog crate next to my desk. He is going to be fine and will certainly make a full recovery. I hope he learns that you don't do things like that...but who knows. No one would ever accuse him of being smart.

Needless to say, this event has consumed our family for the past couple of days, and has been very dramatic. We are really happy that he's home and resting. It's funny how attached we get to pets, and the spending of significant amounts of money to help them isn't even questioned. Chili is a member of our family, and when he hurts, we hurt.

Get well, little guy.

Flying home today. w00t! I have to pass through airports, which aren't any fun (I've covered this already), but the passage back home is always more pleasant than the departure away.

Having spent six years in the Navy, I am familiar with the feelings of departure and arrival. The difference is, obviously, scale. When I fly on business, it is short and the time spent during these phases of travel brief; the pace frenetic. Leaving port is an entireley different ordeal. It takes several hours to prepare a ship for departure. During that time, while busy, my mind had the opportunity to experience departure very deeply. Securing my workspace for sea; securing my berthing area; locking away valuables; reporting to the fantail to join the crew on line 6 to prepare for departure. Stories are swapped and sailors laugh and skylark. Loosing the 6 inch line that is extending the shore to your ship. Making that disconnection always feels like a ragged cut has severed you from you, and the person that you are on shore is standing on the pier watching the sailor depart. The sailor at sea has taken over. I watch as the pier slips away behind us, thinking of Teresa, and home, and friends on shore; holding on to that shore-person as long as I can. As I become a sailor, I laugh and cut-up with the rest of the crew, getting my job done and watching those familiar Bay landmarks shrink and disappear in our wake. Inside, I mourn the loss of home, knowing that it won't be seen again for two weeks, 2 months, or 6 months...each timeframe different but each departure filling the same time-space, creating the same feelings. The shore-sickness is a sea unto itself, shifting and rolling underneath the surface of the sailor, masked by bravado and humor. It's always there, always part of the sailor. The return home is an acknowledgment of this sickness and it allows us to dive into that character again, daydreaming about the first day home, the sights and smells and sounds of shore, as different from sea-life as dark is from light. The anticipation lasts a day or two, or a week, or even a month. Each day closer brings you back to you, merging the lubber and the sailor until the two have met again, the line tossed on shore and made fast, the gangway lowered and liberty called. Teresa hated me leaving and hated me coming home. Leaving hurt too much and she had to buffer herself against that pain and loss. While the shore-person inside of me might have stayed, she received no benefit from his presence. And when I came home she had to adjust to my physical presence, which is always different than the mind-presence of a person you miss. Plus, I smelled like the ship. She hated the Navy, and with good reason. I hated it then, but hate it less as time separates the sailor from the shore-person that I am now. It is times like this, times spent in airport chairs eating airport food, that I catch glimpses of the sailor I was and experience again those feelings of loss and gain. It is a brief encounter, but one that makes me remember that gulf and appreciate the life that is being lived now.

I was going to write some stuff about this weekend, but I'll let this post stand on its own. More later.