Right at the beginning of Spring Break my Mom needed an extra body. She was trying to fill all the rooms at my aunt’s motel in Cayucos so she and her folk music playing buddies would have the group discount, but she didn’t have enough musicians to do so. I hemmed and hawed as long as possible before finally agreeing to be the eighth wheel. I have a long history with folk music, mostly of avoiding it whenever possible. But this would be a nice start to my Spring Break and it was going to be Marsha’s first time on the beach!
So on the last day of school while I was trying to keep order in the classroom, Mom rounded up my dogs and drove them down to my school. Have I mentioned I have a 40 mile drive to work? Since school was in the direction to the beach, and since I didn’t see the point of driving 40 miles to pick up dogs only to turn around and drive the same 40 miles again, this worked out well. The beasts were good for her in the car and Hershey and Marsha were happy to meet the office staff who came out to see them. Graham, high strung thing that he is, was feeling a bit overwhelmed.
So after that, I loaded them into My car and off we went for sand and sun. Well, sand anyway.
While the weekend DID turn out to be a nice time, the drive over, mostly on two lane roads, in the rain, with insane/impatient local drivers was far from relaxing. Still, even with some pit stops for myself and the dogs we got there in good time and got checked in, a bit frazzled but none the worse for wear.
My aunt’s motel, fittingly called Cayucos Motel, is VERY pet friendly to the point where every pet’s first visit they get a personalized bowl filled with treats and toys. Humans get a nice continental breakfast and the bill. Hershey and Graham had been before, but everyone enjoyed Marsha’s toys, and treats.
March wasn’t what I’d hoped or expected, either in blogging or in real life. March, quite frankly, sucked.
The first problem with March was a carryover problem from February, Hershey and her damned dewclaw. The cut she’d inflicted on her left paw by punching through my front window had been in a place where it could be stapled. It had healed up beautifully; I’m not even sure where it was now. The cut on her right paw had been in the space between her dewclaw and the rest of the paw. It was in a tricky area, basically impossible to stitch or staple so the vet left it to heal on its own. It had other ideas.
It was almost healed and then was opened up. It almost healed from that and opened up again. It almost healed from that and then it ripped Marsha’s ear open.
Let me explain: