Playing in the Grass

The other day when our A/C was broken (more on that later), Chickster and I retreated outside for a bit during the afternoon. The house really wasn't that hot, but the breeze was much better out in the shade of formerly-NESN's crazy jungle trees. Argus came too, and here's what we did.

Sat in the grass without eating it.

Chased Argus's ball.

Played with Argus's nasty, slobbery ball.

Self Portrait!

Stalked Argus while he attempted to play with his own toy.

Meanwhile, Chickster still has a rash from the grass. I actually took him to the doctor on Monday since it still hadn't gone away. We didn't get to see Dr. B, but we saw a different doc who was very nice and I'm sure quite knowledgeable. He looked at the rash, said it was either from the grass or not, and treatment was the exact same either way. So we're best friends with the tube of hydrocortisone cream right now.

Honestly, I was secretly hoping the doc would say, "Why, that's Chicken Pox you crazy lady, not a grass-rash!" so we could go ahead and get that over with and not have to worry about the shot. But no such luck. Maybe I'm the only one who feels that way, but I would rather him have the real thing than a stupid shot for it. Plus, it's almost a rite of passage for childhood. Everybody remembers Chicken Pox.

But we'll have to settle with slobbering on the same toy as the dog. That's gross enough for now.