Notes from Maine - 2026/10/4
We’re having a tough weekend here in Maine. The weather is beautiful, the horses are doing well, but inside the house, Albert (dog) and I are lying low.
A couple of weeks ago, Albert had his dental cleaning at our local vet. They recommended some more advanced procedures while admitting that he could benefit from a more experienced facility. There’s a limit to how much a general practitioner knows about periodontal surgery. I thought we were going to have to travel several hours to find the right doctor. Instead, we found one well-recommended in Portland, less than an hour away. After a brief consultation on Tuesday, they put Albert on the schedule for Wednesday. He had a couple of extractions and then they were able to relocate some of his gingiva in order to save some other teeth.
For a couple of days, Albert seemed to enjoy the new “soft food” diet. He’s not allowed to crunch anything for at least five more days. At the moment, he doesn’t like the idea of canned food anymore. There’s a quiet battle going on inside Albert and I think he’s waiting for the dust to settle before he attempts to eat again. I can still get him to eat some roasted chicken, but even that draws a suspicious eye from him.
I was doing great until Friday.
There were a couple of maintenance items on my list, so I decided to get them done back-to-back. My first stop was Walgreens, where they loaded up my arm with some of my favorite vaccinations. I knew there was a chance that getting that done at once might put me off balance, but I’ve experienced the alternative and I’ll take a predictable hangover instead of an unpredictable illness.
My mistake was pairing that vaccination appointment with a haircut.
The stylist was very nice, although a little soft-spoken. Some utterances were clearly just small talk. They were mixed in with questions about my desired cut, so I kept saying, “Pardon me? Excuse me? What was that? Sorry?”
The stylist would lean in close and re-ask or re-tell.
One time, they said, “Sorry—I can’t really talk right now. My kids are all sick with different things and I’ve lost my voice.”
This was whispered no more than three inches from my ear.
I like to think that I’m not a germaphobe, but I nearly jumped out of the chair to run for the door. This person had been touching every part of my head as well as breathing directly into my face for the better part of ten minutes. The cold hands, pallid skin, dark bags under the eyes, and husky voice all foretold my bleak future.
Maybe I caught whatever that stylist was spreading. Maybe I’m just running low because my immune system is rebooting with the latest vaccines. Either way, I’m not feeling great this morning. I have about a week to fully recover before my sister and mom return for another quick visit.
I just tried soaking Albert’s normal kibble to see if he would enjoy that more than the canned food. He hasn’t gone near it yet. Not surprising—he has never been all that keen on eating. Albert goes through periods where he eats a bunch of food a few days in a row, and then he’ll ignore his food for a day or so. He maintains the same weight on his own schedule regardless of how much I put in front of him. I hope that before too long the hunger will drive him back to the bowl. If it doesn’t, I’ll call the nice person at the veterinary dentist’s office who invited me to report back if Albert was having any issues.
As for me, I’m going to hope that my symptoms clear up over the next day or so. The last thing I’m going to do is give anyone a haircut or whisper in any ears. If I did catch something from the stylist, I’ll make sure not to spread it.
