Blame The Dog

My dad is doing better. What happened is that he caught a bug that turned into pneumonia. The stress of the illness caused his heart to go into A fib. He has reverted back to a normal rhythm and is responding well to the antibiotics.

He's bored silly, is going through nicotine withdrawal and feeling ornery. Hopefully, he'll be discharged soon, both for his sake as well as the nurses.

I stayed overnight with my mom. She's scared to be alone. In my father's chair, she put one of my dad's outfits, stuffed it with towels and topped it with a wig. That was so in case anyone looked in the window, it would look like he was sitting there. It looked like a pile of clothes and a wig to me, but if it made her feel better, that's fine.

There was an ugly incident in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, I tend to scream in my sleep. So, when I started up, I woke up to my mom yelling at the dog to be quiet. She thought that it was the dog howling. Feeling guilty, I said nothing.

The next morning my mom asked if the dog's howling woke me up. She was still upset about being woken up like that. I said yeah. I was too embarrassed to admit that it was me. I guess that is one of the problems with being a dog. People tend to blame things on you.