Ruminations on music, culture, America and the world stage
What a natural. I have no idea whether she’ll be the Pub prez candidate in 2012 or whether she has any other high-office aspirations. But if you can’t love her for her uniqueness as a person (looks, smarts, core principles and values, experience in everything from political leadership to hunting and fishing to building a family) as well as her understanding of and devotion to human freedom, human dignity and common sense, you’re some kind of weirdo.
I’ve had something confirmed for me that’s rather a drag to fully let in: I’ve become allergic to dogs.
I love dogs. Had dogs all through my growing-up years, and two of my most beloved family members in my adult years have been dogs. Since the last one passed on, we’ve been a cat household, but I’d figured someday I’d get another canine companion. I guess that won’t be.
Over the past year, I’ve had three or four episodes in which dramatic upheavals of my physical condition were clearly attributable to my having palled around with pooches. About a year ago, Mrs. BN and I went to my sister’s house for a dinner / holiday get-together. My nephew and his wife brought their little terrier, Oscar. We frolicked as we usually do. On the drive home, my eyes swelled nearly shut and tears cascaded down my puffy, blotchy cheeks. In the spring, I dog-sat for a family that went on vacation to Florida. The first day, I went to their house for a get-acquainted session, which involved much climbing on the couch, paws in the lap, licking and such. Within five minutes of leaving, I got the balloon-face syndrome again, this time with a little difficulty in breathing. Got some benadryl at the store and that’s how I made it through the week.
Last night, Mrs. BN and I attended a Christmas party. Great folks, great chow. good drinks, and two black labs with whom I engaged in human-canine fellowship. There was another guitarist there, and we played some music – carols, plus some blues and folk music. While we were playing, I noticed I couldn’t draw a decent breath. Also, again, my face felt all hot and itchy. Not wishing to appear melodramatic, I didn’t say anything at the time, but as we left and walked to our car, I mentioned it to Mrs. BN, told her I could feel my bronchial tubes swelling shut. I let her drive home. She seriously considered taking me to the ER, but I convinced her just to go on home. She let me puff on an inhaler she keps handy for her occasional bouts of athsma, and the relief was instant. I took two benadryls and went to bed.
This morning, while WS was out, she ran into a physician friend of ours and told him of my experience. He told her to have me get to a heallth-care provider first thing tomorrow morning and get tested. He said I’d probably given something I’ll need to keep with me at all times. He firmly told her to convey his admonishment to me that I must do this. He said that otherwise the next encounter could kill me.
Man, if anything can be filed under the category “aw, dang,” it’s the prospect of not making any more dog friends the rest of my life.
