Today at 5pm, we have an appointment (confirmed by the vet’s automated service last night) to put Logan to sleep. Last Monday night he woke up and staggered around our bedroom confused and panting. He got lost behind chairs. He fell down and couldn’t get up. So we put him in his crate where he’d be safe.

The next night, he had a grand mal seizure. So we took him to the vet, and they did a full round of tests. We were hoping for Cushing’s disease which, while awful, would be treatable. Addison’s, too, would have been fine. But the results for Logan’s cortisone levels were normal: he’s just old, and declining rapidly.

So we made the appointment for today, and last night he had another seizure. This one lasted 4 minutes, and it was followed by more of them this morning. If I could go home now and take him to the vet, I would. I feel awful delaying a day.

But the worst is telling Freebird. We read a book about heaven and angels and how they take care of all the souls in the Treasury of Souls, and that heaven is a beautiful place with all your favorite things. We said that Logan was old and sick and going to heaven, and that he wouldn’t be with us anymore. We could think about him, and he would be with us in our minds.

One of Freebird’s other books has illustrations that include a small white dog like Logan, and it’s all about making art on the beach. So we looked at those pictures and I thought, maybe heaven is like a beach. I’d like that, personally.

Saying goodbye this afternoon will be so hard. But after seeing him panting and seizing, it’s time. As I said on Twitter, in the words of the theologians The Pussycat Dolls, I hate this part right here.

Judging from the pounding in my head, the storms heading for the northeast are huge. HUGE.

Dammit. 

Freebird is in Pre-K and the difference is amazing, even after two weeks of being in the advanced level. So smart and so good at reading - he’s sounding words out, and desperate to be able to read everything.

Can’t wait until he says, “Mommy, what’s a bosom? And why does it say ‘bitch’ everywhere?”

That’ll be fun. 

Me: “Baba, that’s a massive poop in your diaper.”

Baba: “WIENER!”

Me: “Yes, that’s your wiener.”

Baba: “IT’S A PENIS!”

Me: “Yup, that’s your penis.”

Baba: “SCHLOOOOONNNNNGG!”

Me: “HUBBY?!!”

Baba O’Riley: “MOMMY! OH NO!”

Me: “What?”

Baba: “MOMMY! MOMMY! OH NO!”

Me: “What, you hurt yourself?”

Baba: “MOMMY. NO PENIS?!”

Me: “Oh. Nope, no penis. Girls don’t have penises.”

Baba: “OH NOOOOOO!”

Our book is in People. I’m quoted in People. PEOPLE MAGAZINE—ZOMG!

I’d like to thank Robert Pattinson for messy love life and his messy hair.

This year, most of the vacation I used from work was pretty much exclusively for book promotion. This week, I took four days and went to DC for the RWA National. I’m exhausted. I have to take a good look at what time I have left and figure out how to take actual vacation time, an actual span of removal from my daily routine so as to recharge.

Instead of any recharging, I’m pretty much depleted.

Even with that low battery feeling, I had a marvelous time, and am so pleased to have made new friends.