As the day winds down, there is only one thing on my mind: how to handle the anxiety the night before Saoirse's spay surgery. The vet's receptionist called this afternoon to verify the appointment for tomorrow morning, and I asked again about whether they talked to the vet clinic that did her brother's surgery that went wrong. They said they called but the clinic was closed for a few days. (It is a very small town.) I'm still dropping Saoirse off tomorrow, but I am going to be a wreck until they tell me she is in recovery. Everybody think happy thoughts for my puppy, basically from now until the end of the week, while her surgery site heals.
I tried to follow all the rules about not planting outside until after mother's day. We put a few perennials in the ground, but the annuals were in pots we could move. I watched the forecast, and until yesterday, it looked like we were totally in the clear. Then the predicted lows for the next few days started to creep down, but still said above freezing. Then today, the best local journalist tweeted that Boulder was about to have "stupid poopyhead weather." And then it snowed. It snowed hard, but only those fat, fluffy flakes that melt on the ground. (It followed that wise NoDak saying, "Big snow makes little snow; little snow makes big snow.")
I can't decide whether it's worth the effort to bring the ficus tree back in off the porch for one or two nights. Probably. I just don't want to.
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