The Rescue Wagon Has Arrived...

"I don't know what's wrong and going on with me today," I told my father this afternoon over the phone. "I just feel out of sorts -- a very nervous, excitable, and miserable type of fellow. I have this disconcerting lump in my throat and stomach that just won't go away."

"You've done so well lately. It could take a day or two for your Risperdal to get to working real good," my father told me in layman's vernacular.

I was about to hang up the phone when my father said he would be over in 30 minutes.

"Do you want something to eat?" he then asked me planning to run down to McDonald's for a Big Mac value meal.

"I am okay on food, but would love to get my six sodas and some pungent smokes," I told him.

"I will be sure to bring them with me," he told me.

I was trying to read a Model Railroader with little success due to little concentration when Maggie yelped in excitement as my father pulled up in front of the house in thirty minutes just like he said he would. Let the games begin...

"I owe you two hugs for remembering to bring my sodas," I told my father as he walked across my front yard,

"Come on and let's get Maggie situated before I leave," my father told me.

The Magster got her cup of super chunky dog food and a big bowl of fresh cool water. Maggie was contentedly eating her kibble as my father slipped out the front door until tomorrow.