Roast that rump

I was seduced by the on-sale rump roast at WFM yesterday, so I picked some up.

It's in the crockpot right now with garlic, a huuuuuge onion, carrots, celery, red wine, and some concentrated beef stock (mixed into the wine). I'll go snip some rosemary soon. Maybe I'll sprinkle some marjoram into the crock, too.

We were gonna have hot wings tonight, but they'll keep.

I really hope the meat cravings go away someday. It sometimes seems like the urchin is an obligate carnivore. I wouldn't mind returning to vegetarianism, though I know I probably won't be able to do it so long as we're exclusively breast-feeding.

My hands smell of celery and onions . . . yum.

Well, at least the vet is family . . .

My parents have two special needs Scotties. One is emotionally gimpy, the other is neuromuscularly gimpy.

Well, Neal managed to stumble across a patch of grass a few days ago and gorged himself. He then proceeded to vomit all night. Mom took him in to a local vet (they're in Zachary, LA) when he refused to touch the peanut butter containing his seizure meds. He's been on IV fluids for a few days, but the vomiting hadn't stopped. So they took some x-rays this morning.

And saw what appeared to be two rocks.

So . . . emergency surgery.

And they found two rocks. It appears he lacks the ability to tell food from not-food. Jericho has this shark-related instinct, so he doesn't usually eat non-food items (at least not after tasting them cautiously). Neal is not so lucky, or just doesn't care.

Dear Nealbert,
Rocks are not edible. Please don't do that again.
Love,
krasota