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My breath stinks

May 11, 2017

Photo on 4-28-17 at 11.22 AM

Thursday, May 11, 2017

This morning before I got up, Penny complained about my bad breath and would it be a good idea to visit a dentist.  I agreed.  After all, I can’t smell my own breath.  I don’t feel differently from usual.  Possibly I have some dental trouble.  My mind rushes ahead.  How will I tell my dentist’s wife what my emergency trouble is?  Hello, I’m Dan Struckman and my breath stinks.  Can the doctor do something about my stinky breath?  Yes, I’ve brushed and flossed a couple times a day for the past several days.

Thus fortified with food for thought, I got up and descended the long stairs to the basement foot-over-foot.  It’s been three weeks and several days, now, since my knee replacement and I can do most things naturally with pain, usually, but not a crippling amount.  I’m getting proud of my ability with stairs.

Gunther was happy to see me, as usual.  He puts his paws up on my waist and I frisk him and speak endearments.  I told him I love him this morning.  Made me wonder how P. would feel if she could hear me say that to our dog.  At the top of the steps, sure enough, she was in the kitchen making coffee.

Our 7a.m. walks are off leash because G. is mellow first thing.

Bright, blue sky, warm yellow sunlight, bright green weedy lawn next door.  The dandelions are a foot tall and gone to seed.  G. and I make it to the end of the block and I hear some high school girls making over G.  “Ooooh look!”

Birds are good, possibly I hear a squirrel chattering.  Certainly are a lot of squirrels locally to chatter.

G. and I made it clear around the block without him pooping.  I recall that he had two scant, watery, movements last night.

Everyone had forgotten to put a coffee filter in the pot so the coffee was ruined.  P. spent a good amount of time throwing out the old and making some new.

When she brought me a cup of coffee, finally, she leaned close to smell my breath.  “Hmmm.  Maybe it’s not so bad,” she said.


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One Comment
  1. Juanita Winklestein permalink

    I swung by yesterday. You were sleeping like a log.

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