Weeks ago, it came to my attention that I had Vacation and Float time that I would lose at the end of the year if I did not use it up. I just started my job before the holidays last year, so this was all a little confusing to me.
So my supervisor helped me find time I could take off, including a few evenings this week.
She's kind like that, helpful and sweet.
We are using these days to get some things done, including the Christmas Cookies.
I'm used to it after a million years. I rolled it out, she cut them out with that tumbler on the cupboard. I watched the oven. It took a few hours, but all is baked and ready to frost tomorrow.
Our vet came by today to provide routine care and check out our baby. He's an old friend, pets and history the bridge. He looked over this little girl with her piranha teeth we are continually deflecting onto innocent toys and raw-hides, and pronounced her Perfect. He felt the lump on Sidney's chest and agreed it's nothing to worry about, just a lump of fat.
(This is a funny story though about John's old dog. She has a fatty tumor on her chest too, and the kids were concerned, took her to the vet, had a full work up done. The dog is fine.)
But my brother in law also cares about John's old dog and asked him.
John: "What the vet said? Yer dog's FAT. That'll be $400."
Paul about died laughing. We've seen this a couple-a times, actually.
Paul knew John and Dan back when they were young squirrels. In fact, they were the first young squirrels he'd ever personally known.
So now when they have adult, annoying problems and complain to him, it's extra funny because, Yeah. He Knew Them When.
And Sophie, John and Dannell's old dog, fat tumor and all, is appreciated with much affection.