A Formal Complaint Regarding Post-Operative Ball Deprivation, Unpredictable Illinois Weather, and Why Service Dogs Deserve More Peanut Butter Pies

Content Note: Discussion of chronic illness, disability, medical alert work, surgery recovery, severe weather, and minor storm damage.

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.

The one who picks out my sweaters in the spring, fall, and winter, and all of my bandanas the rest of the year.

She belongs to both of us.

And don’t you dare forget The Yard Yeti.

Mama’s younger brother.

Even if he is the tallest creature in the whole house.

My very best friend.

The one who throws my ball the furthest and shouts “Lulus!” every time he sees me.

He gets the most bork, the most boing, and the most kisses.

I love him very, very much.

This space is for chronic illness without shame.

Disability without performance.

Care without conditions.

(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!

🥤 Hydration Check Before We Begin

Hi, hello!

Sit, stay!

Good human.

It is I, Luna Bean!

If you’ve made it this far, good job.

That means it is Friday.

And if you ask me, Fridays are the best days.

Because Fridays are the days where I get to take over the blog and put my muddy paws all over everything because lately Illinois weather has been just as dramatic as Mama’s body.

Throwing all kinds of nonsense all over the place.

Now, before we get started…

Have you had water today?

Eaten something?

And do not be like Mama.

Mama will tell you that coffee is a meal.

We’ve been over this before.

Coffee is not a meal.

I have checked.

Thoroughly.

Multiple times.

It is not a meal.

It can be something you have with a meal.

It can even be a dessert in some countries and cultures.

But it cannot be the whole thing.

Go ahead.

I’ll wait.

…

Are you back?

I’m proud of you.

Now let’s get into this week, because this week has been a lot of things.

🎾 The Ongoing Hostage Situation

If you didn’t already know this, on June 3rd, I got spayed.

Meaning that it’s officially been very many days now.

I was told that I couldn’t play with my ball, run, jump, zoom, ricochet off furniture, or participate in any of my standard Dingo Activities™ for fourteen whole days after surgery.

Fourteen.

Days.

I have consulted experts.

(The experts were me.)

We all agree this feels extremely illegal.

And while you would think that any other dog in the world would love a vacation…

I am not one of them.

Mama has started calling this a hostage situation.

And she might be telling you that she’s the one being held hostage here, but honestly, I think it might be the other way around.

I feel perfectly fine.

I jump up and down from the bed and the couch whenever I want.

I’m not wearing a bandage, a cone, or a surgery suit because I’m not bothering my incision or my stitches.

I am being The Best Girl™.

And I feel like I deserve my ball.

I have filed complaints.

Mumther has ignored all of them.

Forehead kisses are fantastic.

The extra pets are fantastic.

The extra snacks are fantastic.

But I want my car rides back.

I want to be allowed to work again.

🐾 A Service Dog Doesn’t Really Clock Out

Even though, if I’m being honest with you…

I never stopped.

I kept alerting even when I wasn’t supposed to.

There’s no off switch in my brain that says:

“Stop telling Mama to sit down.”

Or:

“Stop telling Mama that a migraine is coming.”

These things are just part of who I am.

I chose this job.

Or maybe it chose me.

Maybe we chose each other.

I don’t know.

I just know this is how things work in our house.

We take care of each other.

That’s what family does.

🌩️ The Great Umbrella Migration of 2026

I still get to go to the garden with Mama and Mama #2.

Well…

When Illinois isn’t being completely unhinged.

The weather doesn’t know what it’s doing lately.

One minute it’s blisteringly hot and the only thing I want to do is hide inside with the air conditioning. (Complete with a light sweater because having a shaved tummy makes it hard to regulate my temperature.)

Then it gets humid.

Then there’s heat lightning.

Then thunder.

Then rain.

Then more thunder.

Then louder thunder.

And suddenly everybody is running around like they’ve forgotten how weather works.

Mama says the rain is good for the garden.

I remain unconvinced.

The wind has taken down more of the elephant ear tree that Mama loves in the side yard.

The same one that got hit when the big pine came down.

That poor tree cannot catch a break.

Then the storm took the entire top out of the elephant ear tree in the front yard.

And then…

The umbrella incident.

On Wednesday, Mama and Mama #2 ran upstairs to close the deck umbrella when a storm rolled in out of nowhere.

The Yard Yeti came inside because the power had already gone out three times.

Everybody was moving quickly.

Everybody thought somebody else had already handled it.

Mama #2 said,

“It’s already down.”

The Yard Yeti said,

“It’s gone.”

Gone.

Not down.

Not folded.

Not relocated.

Gone.

As though the umbrella had finally achieved sentience and decided to begin a new life elsewhere.

Everybody just stood there for a second trying to figure out what happened.

Then came the chaos.

The Yard Yeti told Mama to grab the keys because they genuinely thought the umbrella had blown into the next neighborhood.

(I was told to stay inside because the rain was apparently “coming sideways.”)

Rude.

Thankfully the umbrella only made it as far as the neighbor’s yard.

No people were hurt.

No pets were hurt.

No houses were damaged.

Just the umbrella.

Which now has two broken arms and may be beyond saving.

But sometimes something breaking is just the world’s way of saying:

“It’s time to invite something new and good into your life.”

Right?

I’m trying to be optimistic.

Because sometimes losing something you’ve had for a long time is harder than people realize.

🥜 Countdown to Freedom

I’m hoping the weather settles down before June 17th.

Because that’s when the vet says I can officially have my ball back.

Mama says she might let me have it a little sooner.

Nothing wild.

Just rolling it around inside the house.

Enough to keep me entertained.

Because she’s noticed that the less active I am, the less interested I am in eating.

And honestly?

I’ve noticed the same thing about her.

Don’t think that just because I’m resting means I’m not paying attention.

I’m always watching.

We spend a lot of time lying near each other now.

Mama writes from bed.

I supervise from bed.

It’s very efficient.

Apparently, I “don’t know how to quit.”

She says this like it’s a criticism.

She isn’t wrong.

But I get most of my stubbornness from her.

Can you blame me?

She’s always telling people she’s a stubborn cryptid.

So, I guess that makes me a stubborn mini-cryptid.

💜 From One Stubborn Cryptid to Another

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, alert, or curl up as needed.

💜 Mama Note

Thank you for all of the love you’ve shown Luna during her recovery.

She’s healing beautifully and proving that keeping a smart, athletic working dog “quiet” may be one of the greatest challenges I’ve ever faced.

For anyone wondering, yes, she’s continued alerting throughout her recovery. Service work isn’t something she simply turns on and off. It’s woven into who she is.

While she’s been resting from public outings and formal training sessions, she’s still been taking care of me every single day.

Watching her grow into the partner she’s becoming remains one of the greatest privileges of my life.

If you want to spoil me, Mama did make me an Amazon Wishlist.

No expectations. Ever.

It’s just there for people who like sending love in chew toy form.

Until next Friday,

Luna 🐾
(on behalf of Mama)

© The Crippled Cryptid

Disability. Honesty. A little chaos.
(Absolutely dog fur and puppy love.)

🐾 Luna’s Current Status Report

Healing: Excellent
Ball Privileges: Suspended pending appeal
Opinion on Thunderstorms: Extremely negative
Opinion on Forehead Kisses: Extremely positive
Peanut Butter Pie Inventory: Critically low
Number of Humans Currently Being Supervised: 3
Likelihood of Following Medical Restrictions: Under Investigation

🔗 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 me stocked in peanut butter pies:

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