After wrestling with our first mortgage company, the mom finally iistened to our stellar real estate agent, Sarah Odegaard. Her paperwork landed on the desk of Jeff Bell at Cobalt Mortgage. That was just two weeks ago, to the day.

Today, the mom shoved me into my crate right after we went to the vet for more pills for me. “I’m off to sign the loan papers, Gracie,” she said, clicking the door into place. “You just had a pain pill and you’ll be so sleepy you won’t notice I’m gone.”

True. That nice Dr. Clare gave me some powerful stuff that knocks me out.

My mom came back humming a funny little tune. She showed me a big stack of papers she had signed. She took off to go see a movie to celebrate. “Who can concentrate on work?” she asked me.

She’s asking the wrong person…er, dog. Work is not a word I use often. I’m definitely feeling better, though. And I need to get on my paws fast so I can supervise this move. Mom was on the phone with her friend Pam Ellis, who will be choosing colors for her living room. But so far I have heard no discussion of where my crate will be.

“Probably the bedroom,” my mom said. “Right next to my bed.”

We have to check this out. Don’t I get to approve the decorating scheme as it applies to dogs?

…and very nasty weather it is too. We’ve had about 5 days of rain without interruption. My mom misses the desert.

On Monday the vet was open (although there was a holiday) so my mom took me to the vet. Dr. Clare said, “Gracie is not as bright as she was last Thursday.”

True. I was feeling like the world should be one big nap.

After poking and prodding, they stuck needles into me. The diagnosis: It seems I have something called pancreatitis. Expensive but ultimately curable. As a dog, I don’t get into the dollars and cents. But I want to get better and go back to running around, driving the mom nuts and walking with my Aunt Sara. Instead, I am lying on the bed or my mom’s counch. Creampuff just ran over to comfort me. Ophelia has ignored me. No surprise there.

My mom shoves nasty-tasting things down my throat all day long. “I have to give Gracie 5 pills a day,” she told soeone one the phone. “Dogs are worse patients than cats.”

Really? At least I don’t have to be force fed. I nibble at my food and eventually eat it. I like to go for walks. I even try to play with other dogs we meet.

My mom hates being sick. For once, we agree on something.