Too Much Excitement in the Park

We're about to descend into more veterinary hell around here. I took Olga to get her shots on Saturday, and at the vet's office she seemed perfectly healthy. But no kidding, within a couple of hours she started to seem a little uncomfortable, and now (for a variety of reasons I won't go into here) I suspect she's dealing with a urinary tract infection. And she seems to have blown out her internal stitches from her spaying operation. Back to the vet today! I'm dreading it.

The problem with the stitches may have been a result of our morning walk in the park yesterday. She had a fairly wild time chasing sticks and playing with other dogs. Maybe she overdid it. I guess I can't really rely on her to know when to stop -- I'll have to be more careful about reining her in.

I used to laugh at people buying pet health insurance. But now I'm wondering if it's worth it. Vets are so much pricier now than they used to be, and the treatments are so much more extensive.

Aside from the park outing, yesterday was pretty quiet. I worked my way through several issues of The New Yorker and Harper's. John McPhee had a long article in one of the New Yorkers about organizing his pieces -- choosing the lead and the ending, and structuring the piece overall. It was mildly interesting, but I can't help wondering whether he overthinks the process. Granted, I have not written huge magazine pieces, but I've written plenty of long articles (and series of articles) for newspapers, and to me the organization always seemed instinctive. By the time I sat down to write, I usually knew roughly what I wanted to begin with, and the story told itself from there. I think if you read enough you know how to help a piece unfold naturally.

Then again, who am I to criticize John McPhee? Really.

(Photo: Notting Hill, a few days ago. It must be time for the council to collect natural Christmas trees -- they're lying on doorsteps all over town. Seems kind of late, though, doesn't it?!)