Content Note: Discussion of veterinary surgery, recovery, medical procedures, and pet health.

Welcome to The Crippled Cryptid.

Disability, chronic illness, service dogs, and survival without the performance.

If you’re new here, hi.

I’m Luna Bean.

Medical alert service dog.

Certified Good Girl.

Full-time nervous system supervisor.

Mama’s body is very dramatic.

My job is to notice before it steals the spotlight.

I alert to migraines.

Seizures.

Heart rate spikes.

Muscle spasms.

And any vibes that feel suspicious enough to deserve a second opinion.

I interrupt spirals.

I apply Deep Pressure Therapy like it’s a sacred ritual.

Because you know what? It is.

I’m learning to retrieve what Mama drops when hands stop cooperating.

Some call me a dog.

Others call me medical equipment.

Mama calls me her freedom.

I consider myself a very important partner.

Maybe even a sidekick.

Mama says that I have “Main Character Energy.”

Whatever the fluff that means…

Most days move slowly. Some happen from Bed Jail™.

That’s fine. I’m excellent at staying close and making sure Mama doesn’t drift too far away from herself.

There’s also M&M.

Mama #2.

Belly rub-giver. Treat-giver. Emotional support human.

She belongs to both of us.

And then, there’s the Yard Yeti.

Mama’s younger brother- even if he is the tallest creature in the house.

My best friend. The one who shouts “Lulus!” every single time he walks into the house.

The one who gets the most tail waggies!

The one who throws my ball full-throttle every time until my paws want to fall off.

This space is for chronic illness without shame.

Disability without performance.

Care without conditions. Ever.

(And yes. There will be fur.)

If you’ve been here before, welcome back.

If you’re new, you’re safe here.

Welcome to the Lunatic Café.

On Today’s Menu: Friday Takeover!

Hi, hello!

It is me.

Luna Bean.

If you’ve made it this far then you already know:

You’ve made it through another week.

For some humans that means waking up, drinking coffee, and going to work.

For others, it means doctor appointments, medications, therapies, tests, and simply making it through another difficult day.

Mama does that kind of work.

More than one thing can be true.

If you haven’t yet, go get some water.

I’ll wait.

Ask Mama.

I’m very, very good at waiting.

Good human.

I’m proud of you.

Have you eaten today?

Please do not be like Mama.

She will tell you that coffee is a meal.

It is not.

I have checked.

Coffee is something that you have with a meal.

Or as a dessert after.

Not the whole thing.

The Vet Day™

This week has been…

Kind of hard.

I went to the vet on Tuesday.

I know Mama has been talking about it for a while, but that was the big day.

We rolled out of bed at 7:30 in the morning.

Which should be illegal.

Mama had a drop-off time between 8:00 and 10:00 a.m., and I immediately decided I did not like the sound of that.

Mama said she wanted to get there early so she could get a good parking spot and be one of the first people there when the office opened.

Her logic was simple:

If I was one of the first surgery patients checked in, I might also be one of the first surgery patients to go home.

And the sooner I got home, the better.

If you didn’t know, the longest I’ve ever really been away from my family is however long it takes them to go to the store, the doctor, or the pharmacy and come back.

Six hours was a very long time.

For both of us.

We were the second surgery patient to sign in that morning.

And even though I was nervous about some of the new people, especially after they took off my collar, leash, and bandana and led me away from Mama…

I was okay.

The staff was kind.

Patient.

Gentle.

And they took very good care of me.

I got my rabies vaccine.

My distemper vaccine.

My nails clipped.

Even though Mama #2 had already done them on Saturday.

But this one was complimentary and I was asleep, so honestly?

Spa day.

I got fluids.

A penicillin injection before I left.

And Mama opted in for laser treatment to help with healing because she wanted the smoothest recovery possible.

Less pain.

Less swelling.

Less inflammation.

Less scarring.

She also made sure I came home with pain medication.

What she did not bring home was the cone.

She calls it a “Cone of Shame.”

Or a “lampshade.”

Both of which made Aunt Lise laugh.

Instead, I have a maroon surgery suit that says Life Is Ruff on the back.

Apparently, this is supposed to prevent me from bothering my stitches.

I am still filing complaints.

Management remains unmoved.

There is also an inflatable donut collar waiting in reserve.

Mama says she will use it if necessary.

I believe this constitutes a threat.

The Upside of Recovery

The good news is that after this…

No more heat cycles.

No more feeling miserable and uncomfortable.

No more rude male dogs acting like they’ve lost all sense.

No more worrying about accidental puppies from the awful, rude, unmannered, beagle next door.

And honestly?

Peace of mind is priceless.

I think one of the only upsides right now is that I basically get whatever I want.

If I want to sleep on the floor?

Mama lets me.

If I want to sleep on the couch?

Mama follows me and naps beside me.

If I want to sleep on the bed?

Let’s be honest.

I was already doing that.

I get extra treats.

I get Purina Moist & Meaty mixed with my lamb kibble because it’s soft and easy to eat.

Bear used to love it.

Mama does sentimental things like that sometimes.

She’ll share little pieces of the dogs she loved with the dog she loves now.

She also made homemade dog ice cream.

Some are yogurt and peanut butter.

Some are yogurt and fruit.

There are frozen treats.

Lick mats.

And enough recovery snacks to sustain a small army.

It’s me, I’m the army.

Official Statement Regarding My Current Condition

I know a lot of you have been checking on me.

Thank you.

Mama reads your comments to me, even if I mostly pretend not to care while accepting gentle belly rubs and snacks.

The good news is that I’m doing really well.

I’m eating.

I’m drinking.

I’m going potty normally.

My incision looks good.

And according to Mama, I’m “acting way too much like myself already.”

Which I think is a compliment.

The bad news is that apparently feeling better does not mean I’m allowed to sprint across the yard after tennis balls.

I’ve asked.

Repeatedly.

The answer remains no.

This is discrimination.

Medical Leave Is Weird

I don’t even get to work right now.

Just rest.

And be taken care of.

Which is strange.

Because even when Mama says no, I still try.

It’s not like there’s a little off switch in my brain.

Taking care of Mama is who I am.

But maybe taking care of me is who she is too.

Funny how that works.

Most days I’m the one watching her.

Counting breaths.

Interrupting spirals.

Alerting before things get bad.

Making sure she comes back to herself when her body starts doing weird little side quests.

Right now, though?

She’s doing all of that for me.

Making sure I rest.

Watching my incision.

Keeping track of my medication.

Sitting with me when I’m uncomfortable.

Making sure I heal the same way she always makes sure I live.

I guess that’s what a team does.

We take turns carrying the hard parts.

🐾 Luna Note

I know Mama tells everyone I’m brave.

Personally, I think bravery is overrated.

I would have preferred not having surgery at all.

However…

If bravery means being scared and doing the thing anyway…

Then I guess I was brave.

The vet was unfamiliar.

The people were unfamiliar.

And being away from my family for that long was one of the strangest days I’ve ever had.

But I did it.

And now I get to heal.

Sometimes that’s all bravery really is.

Doing the hard thing.

Then resting afterward.

🐾 Recovery Update: Gifts, Bribes, and Other Important Matters

Before I go, I have some very exciting news.

Aunt Dee says she’s sending me a get well soon card.

This is apparently a thing humans do when someone has surgery.

Personally, I think it’s an excellent tradition and one that should continue immediately.

I enjoy mail.

I enjoy attention.

And I especially enjoy being told I’m brave.

If anyone else has been wondering how to send a recovering Service Dingo™ their best wishes, Mama did make me an Amazon Wishlist.

No pressure.

No expectations.

No guilt.

Reading the blog, sharing posts, and cheering me on while I heal are already wonderful gifts.

But if you happen to be the kind of human who likes sending love in the form of chew toys, enrichment goodies, treats, or other Very Important Recovery Supplies™, my wishlist can be found here:

🔗 WISHLIST LINK

I cannot promise I will write thank-you notes myself.

I do not have thumbs.

I can, however, promise enthusiastic tail wags and several commemorative tennis ball zoomies once my parole period ends.

P.S. If Aunt Dee’s card contains glitter, Mama says she’s sending me to live with her.

I think that’s rude.

💜 Mama Note

Watching Luna walk away with the veterinary staff was harder than I expected.

I trust our vet.

I knew she was in good hands.

I knew spaying her was the right decision.

None of that stopped me from wanting to cry in the parking lot after they took her back.

Luna spends so much of her life watching over me.

Alerting.

Interrupting symptoms.

Keeping me safe.

For one day, all I could do was trust other people to take care of her.

Thankfully, they did.

Her surgery went beautifully.

Her recovery is going beautifully.

And while she’s currently negotiating for tennis ball privileges she absolutely does not have, we’re incredibly grateful that she’s healing so well.

Thank you to everyone who checked in on her.

The comments, messages, prayers, good thoughts, and support have meant more than you know.

Love,

-Sky

Thanks for staying with us.

If something here felt familiar, you’re not alone.

If today asked too much of you, it’s okay to rest.

You don’t have to earn care.

You don’t have to prove pain.

You don’t have to be productive to be worthy.

I’ll be right here.

Watching Mama’s breathing.

Listening for the quiet shifts.

Ready to interrupt, ground, or curl up as needed.

Until next Friday,

Luna 🐾
(on behalf of The Cryptid Crew)

© The Crippled Cryptid

Disability. Honesty. A little chaos.

(Absolutely dog fur and puppy love.)

🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa

No pressure to donate. Reading and sharing count.

If you’d like to support the long, unglamorous work of survival, disability, mobility, and keeping the Service Dingo™ supplied with tennis balls she definitely isn’t allowed to chase right now:

💜 https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-skys-journey-to-health-and-mobility