Ah, well, there's always the evening hours, right?
Except I got home and noticed my one dog (Scout, the elder of my two remaining rescued ex-racing greyhounds) was bleeding from her mouth. No doubt a dig from chewing on a Milk-bone or a stick, right? Well, after 45 minutes during which time the bleeding grew steadily worse, I made the decision to take her to the emergency vet. Clutching my credit card I arrived at 8:15. By then she was bleeding fairly hard and she and I were covered in it. Following the examination they sedated her (ka-ching), intubated her (ka-ching), sutured her (ka-ching), gave her fluids (ka-ching) and medications - 3 (ka-ching, ching, ching). I just sat there with the bloody clothes getting tacky, though I was distracted by running down the block to the Dunkin' Donuts, which had the only bathroom in the area. And I called a friend to kill some time before Scout roused after 11 PM.
In the end I coughed up $1,200 to pay for these various treatments and I drug poor old Scout on her wobbly legs back home where I then sat up watching the Law & Order SVU marathon until 1:30. Her cries, whimpers and wheezing had eased enough by then that I felt OK going to bed. But I woke up twice between then and 6:30 to check on her, so all in all about a meagre 4 hours sleep.
And then guess what?
I got to jump up and come back to work!
Where another day of hectic insanity left me without a lunch hour at all (and potty breaks were few and far between, too), and here I am, with quitting time having come, and gone, and I'm still at my post.
Posting.
Edits? Revisions?
Pshaw.
Oh, well, there's always tomorrow.
Didn't someone once say that?

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