I feel like such a wanker.

It's amazing how much of an idiot I can be if I don't watch myself. Today, Dog went for a Very Expensive blood test to test for an adrenal disorder (high potassium=maybe Addison's Disease, of course it could also be kidney disease, but he has no other markers for kidney disease), and I've been very worried about him. I mean, he's my baby, my big, fat, fuzzy boy! So all morning, I was fretting and fussing over his (possible) illness.

Then, to ease my mind (since I have to wait until Monday for the results of his tests) I started surfing for patterns, and one blog leads to another when you're on break and I found a blog called Chocolate Sheep. And read Connor's story, and the call for 200 hats. And felt like a huge, wankery wanker.

I mean, yes, my dog is important to me. But, to paraphrase the brilliant Terry Pratchett, personal isn't necessarily important. It's just personal. In all likelihood, there's nothing wrong with my dog that a daily med won't fix, and he'll just keep on...keepin' on. For a while, because it is the nature of all things to one day die, but I do my best to keep that day as far off as possible for him, because he's really a good pet and, really, once you've put as much money into an animal as I have into Dog, you tend to protect your investment.

But. As horrible as it sounds to my animal-lovin' heart (and my OCD mind, which is screaming about cursing my luck--which is silly, yes, I know), he's just a dog--and I know, I knew the day I bought him, that he most likely would die well before my lifespan is spun and that I would then find another dog that needs a human and start the process over again. He's not an actual child, one I birthed and nursed of my body and taught to walk and talk and tie his shoes and kissed boo-boos on and hugged when the monsters under the bed came growling (because you know they always do) and fully expected to outlive me and bring me comfort in my own age. It brings all my Nervous-Nelly-ing into sharp perspective, which is always a horrifying thing to have happen at 2:30 in the afternoon on a Wednesday.

So I'm going to be contributing hats. As many as I can manage between here and November 24th (to allow for shipping time). And if anyone out there reads this blog at all, I'm asking you go, check out the requirements (she's not asking for anything complex, and you can find a blue million beanie and beret patterns here and just adjust for striping), and make a hat or two. While, yes, it is personal to the family involved, it is also important that people who are seriously ill know they aren't alone, know that the rest of the human family feels for them, is pulling for them and is there with them.

And if you know of anyone in your own lives who can use support, give them a call, send them a note. Heck, go lo-tek and physicially visit them in person. Humans (like dogs, which is why we like them) are social animals. The pack, and the wellness of all members within it, is important. Maybe that is all that can truly be considered important and not just personal.