I started a blog one week ago, complaining bitterly, albeit somewhat hyperbolically, that I had spent my Friday night re-arranging our bedroom to accommodate our new girl, Sophie's, preference to sleep on a dog bed on K's side of the bed.
What a difference a week can make.
This evening, we celebrated poop.
It has always been a source of humor among our family that my step-father's father (that being my step-grandfather) held a steadfast belief that the state of a person's health was most readily discernible through an examination of a bowel movement. I would be lying if I didn't admit there was a soundtrack of mocking laughter going through my head as I was cataloging the color, relative firmness and other characteristics of one little poo. I honestly considered collecting it to present to the Vet on Tuesday when we go in for a follow-up evaluation. There was a part of me that thought, "maybe just a picture?"