The Doctor Is In

"Mommy!  You hafta sew my Cliffowrd!"

Medium's tone is most indignant.

She's been after me for days to fix three separate seam rips on her beloved, very old, stuffed hound dog.

Which used to be Hubby's.

Which got appropriated by Medium when Small Fry appropriated the stuffed basset hound, Toby, left behind by our oldest nephew after his marriage.  (He'd lived with us for several months before the wedding.)

I had not found my sewing box after the move.

Medium had.

Presumably because Hubby had, and he'd put it away on the shelf in the coat closet.

Where my eagle-eyed, stubborn, and determined middle child had spotted it this morning.

So I went upstairs and fetched the box, and came back to the den, where my ancient patient was waiting.

Medium came over as I spooled off a length of white thread.

"Fix dis spot fuwrst."  Medium patted Clifford's right ear, which was half undone from the poor thing's head.  Then she bent down and kissed his head.  "I kissed him, so it won't huwrt so much!"

I was about halfway through the ear-reattachment surgery when Large Fry saw what I was doing, and scooted upstairs, only to return a few minutes later with her little purple bunny, who required some serious rotator cuff surgery.  "As soon as I'm finished with Clifford, I'll fix your bunny," I assured her.

Medium repeated her job as my Smooch Anesthetist for Clifford's two remaining suture locations, and then she loved on him once I was done so that Clifford felt all better.

Even Large got to moonlight as a Smooch Anesthetist, kissing her bunny's armpit before I began suturing.

I'm pleased to report that both patients and owners came through the procedures just fine.