It's just before 7, and it's time to give Molly her pills: two Tramadols for pain and one dose of Metacam, her anti-inflammatory.
It's also time for me to take my various meds, but Molly gets hers first.
And on this particular morning, we both feel the ramifications of yesterday's romp. In Maine and in New Hampshire, we took three short walks in the woods, none terribly steep, but all with more ups and downs than I have been doing since learning I have Rheumatoid Arthritis. I also did a good bit of the driving, which I later realized was a mistake. Between stiff knees and sore shoulder, I spent half the night awake. Molly lost out on the couch when Sam got there first, so she didn't have a great night either. Before doing her pills, I opened and closed my hand, hoping to work through some morning stiffness.
Molly gave us the play bow, then sat for her medicine. As usual, we spoke sweetly to her.
"Sit, Molly," we said kindly. "What a good girl." "Open, open, open!" I said, although I would be opening her mouth myself while Pure Luck stood beside her and kept her still.
After we achieved success I said, "We girls with Arf-ritis need to stick together."
(Yes, it's that Pure Luck-ian influence.)
(And yesterday? Worth every stiff joint.)