FIFTY-NINE - Llama Medicine

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I like this whole dog ownership thing. And much to my father's surprise, it turns out I am pretty good at it. I don't even mind cleaning up after Finnigan when he has accidents in the house, which happens a lot. (He is, after all, only ten weeks old.) 

So, I am being very responsible about all of this, although I did not tell Dad that Finn chewed up the red and black Lumberjack slippers Misty gave him for Christmas. Dad looked for them in the cabin for a long time yesterday; he even looked in the car and in the woodpile, but no way was I going to throw Finnigan under the bus and rat him out. I mean, puppies chew things! Dad should really know better than to leave things like slippers lying around. (He is, after all, in his mid-40s.)  

To be honest, I'm very happy to see the end of those slippers. I know it was a thoughtful gift and everything, but they were a bit too big for Dad and I hated the way he shuffled around on the wood floors in them like he was 194-years-old. I had started referring to them as his "Dementia Slippers," which he didn't think was as funny as I did. Good riddance, I say. Finn did us all a favour. What's wrong with a good old fashioned pair of wool work socks, anyway? Best "slippers" ever, if you ask me, (and much more manly).

Norm really likes Finnigan, and last night we hung out in the llama barn together, and Finn just sat in the corner by the steel feed buckets and watched the llamas with a calm, yet healthy curiosity. He seems particularly curious about Desmond. Maybe it's the boy band haircut. Desmond, on the other hand, is only curious about Audrey,  but she still seems a little down in the dumps. We can't figure out why. Maybe she's just moody. Snowflake seems oblivious to everyone and everything, and mostly just stares at his own reflection in the Thrift store mirror Misty put up in the barn to entertain them. 

Speaking of Misty, she isn't really talking to Norm right now. I think it's mostly because he is adamant he isn't going to have chemo or radiation or anything like that for his lung cancer. He says he wants to feel good while he's here, not sick as a dog. Misty says he's being selfish. I don't know what to say about any of it, but I understand them both. I mean, sure, Misty wants to keep her father around for as long as possible, which is how I'd feel if it were my Dad in Norm's shoes. But Norm doesn't have a lot of time left, so he should be able to live his days out in his way...shouldn't he? Dad says everyone is different and that there is no right or wrong way to die. I think he is probably right. And I hope that he can talk to Misty about this because she seems really, really sad. 

Norm said I worry too much; that I overthink things, but I can't help it. I always worry about the people I care about. Mom always says I'm too sensitive, and I really hate it when she says that, because, what's wrong with being tuned in to other people's feelings? Isn't that actually a good thing? Isn't that how caring people are supposed to act?

I asked Norm if that's why he thought I was a "soft cock," and he just chuckled and said, "Aw hell, Myles. I was just yanking your chain. You're fine just the way you are." 

Hearing that made me feel pretty good because I've always thought there is SO much about me that I need to change. Like...most things. But I guess I'm not all bad, and Norm said the fact that the llamas like me so much is a pretty cool thing because, apparently, they are impeccable judges of character. 

I told Norm he seemed to know an awful lot about llamas

He told me he knew a lot about a lot of things.

I don't doubt it for a second.

(Oh, and here's a weird fact for you: Did you know a llama's stomach has three compartments? They are called the rumen, omasum, and abomasum. Sounds like something you'd call a diarrhoea medication, especially the last one. Man, I crack myself up sometimes!)



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