In Which I Am Cleared for Moderate Zoomies and Resuming My Very Important Duties

Content Note: This post discusses disability, chronic illness, service dog access, ableism, invisible disabilities, and recovery after surgery.

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 something? 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.

But don’t forget the Yard Yeti.

Mama’s younger brother and still somehow the tallest creature in the house.

My best friend.

The one who throws my ball the furthest,

And shouts “Lulus!” at the top of his lungs every time he sees me.

Or sometimes we play hide-and-seek.

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!

Hi, hello!

Sit. Stay. Good human.

If you’ve made it this far, then you already know what day it is.

It’s Friday.

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

I get to tell you everything that’s been happening around here.

And all of the ways that Mumther has been stubborn.

Very, very stubborn.

I could count all of the missed alerts and the way she pretends not to notice things.

But I don’t think I’m going to do that.

She knows.

I know she does.

Instead, I’m going to wait while you get some water.

Just in case you haven’t yet.

And make sure you’ve eaten something.

Do not be like Mama.

Food is a meal.

Coffee is not.

No matter how much Mama would like us all to believe otherwise.

I have checked.

Multiple times.

You’re welcome.

Now.

Onto this week.

Because this has been another busy week for us.

And I’m not saying that the same way I’ve been saying it lately.

Things really have been busy around here.

🐾 Recovery Update: Ball Privileges Restored

Mama and Mama #2 have been in and out of the house a lot lately.

Apparently, that’s something that happens when you get a new car.

Even though we’ve had the Jeep for a whole month now.

Which Mama says is absolutely fluffin’ crazy.

And I have to agree.

Because almost as soon as I got my car rides back…

I had to get spayed.

Which I classify as bullshit.

Mama says I’m not allowed to swear because I’m only two and a half.

But in dog years?

I am practically a teenager.

And in the wise words of Mama:

“I do what I want.”

Anyway.

It has officially been two weeks.

Which means I have been cleared for moderate zoomies.

This is the best paperwork I have ever received.

If we’re being honest though…

Mama gave my ball back a little early.

Because like her, I am not a very good patient.

When I don’t get up and move at least a little bit, I don’t really want to eat.

And I think everyone is that way.

When you’re not active, food just isn’t as exciting.

That’s logic.

Recovery is weird.

The humans said I needed rest.

I disagreed.

My stitches, however, apparently had some opinions.

So, I rested.

I accepted frozen treats.

I accepted extra blankets.

I accepted an amount of supervision that frankly bordered on excessive.

And now?

I feel good.

Not sprint-through-the-yard-for-three-hours good.

Not chase-every-ball-ever-created good.

Just…

Good.

Like myself again.

And that feels really nice.

💜 Mama Note: Recovery has been hard on both of us in different ways. Watching Luna be restricted was genuinely harder than I expected because she’s a dog who loves having a job. Seeing her get pieces of herself back this week has felt a little like getting to exhale.

🌩️ Illinois Continues to Be Rude

We’ve been playing outside with my ball more.

Well…

When Illinois weather isn’t being rude.

If you didn’t know this about Illinois, it occasionally decides it would like to be Kansas.

Only I am not Toto.

And I do not want to go to Oz.

The wind gets loud.

Then it gets louder.

Then it gets rainy.

And then sometimes the lights go out.

Then Mama starts cussing.

Because apparently refrigerators need electricity and groceries cost money.

She says if the power stays off too long, the food is at risk.

And replacing groceries in this economy sounds horrifying.

Groceries are not cheap.

Mumther is not made of money.

And someone named Trump did not make this country “Great Again” he made it more fucking expensive.

Which also classifies as bullshit.

Also, our deck umbrella lost its battle with the weather.

May it rest in peace.

🦺 The Service Dingo™ Returns to Duty

Before I was officially cleared to go back to my service dog duties, Mama and Mama #2 kept running into what we call assholes.

First at the pharmacy.

Then at Aldi.

People who decide Mama isn’t disabled because she doesn’t match whatever version of disability they’ve created in their heads.

And honestly?

I think that’s really rude.

Sometimes I think that’s part of why Mama likes having me with her.

People see my bright yellow vest and suddenly remember that disabilities come in more than one flavor.

But here’s the thing.

Mama was disabled before I arrived.

She’s disabled on the days she uses her cane.

She’s disabled on the days she uses her walker.

She’s disabled on the days she uses neither.

Bodies do not stop being disabled because strangers cannot see the paperwork.

Most people don’t know what I know.

They don’t see her heart rate spikes.

They don’t see the migraines.

They don’t smell the things I can smell before a seizure.

They don’t notice the little changes in breathing.

That’s what I’m here for.

That’s what her Apple Watch helps with too.

Invisible doesn’t mean imaginary.

It just means you can’t see it.

If I’m being honest, I missed my job.

I like car rides.

I like garden patrol.

I like sniffing every interesting leaf in Illinois.

But mostly I like going with Mama.

Because I know her body.

I know when her brain gets loud.

I know when her heart starts doing weird things.

I know the quiet before something not-so-quiet happens.

Being Mama’s service dog isn’t just what I do.

It’s who I am.

Even while I was recovering, I still checked on her.

I still listened.

I still watched.

I still noticed things.

Sometimes helping looks like alerting.

Sometimes helping looks like laying quietly beside someone and reminding them they aren’t doing hard things alone.

Everybody has things they need.

Some people have allergies.

Some people have religious beliefs around dogs.

Those things matter.

My work matters too.

Service dogs are medical equipment and working partners.

The law does not stop applying because someone would prefer that I wasn’t there.

Usually there is room for people to communicate and figure things out kindly.

Disabled people should not be treated like we’re the inconvenience simply because our medical needs happen to have fur and a tail.

Now that I’m doing better, I’ll be going more places with Mama again.

Only if it’s safe for me, though.

Mama says my safety comes first.

I think that’s fair.

Even if I would personally accompany her absolutely everywhere.

💜 Mama Note: I know I joke that Luna is a ball gremlin, but she’s also one of the most emotionally intelligent creatures I’ve ever met. Even while recovering, she still checked on me. I don’t think she knows how not to care.

🎾 Closing Remarks from the Ball Department

So, this weekend?

We’re hoping the weather behaves itself.

Maybe we’ll get some things done in the garden. (There are weeds to pull.)

Maybe we’ll get a new umbrella. (It’s nice eating dinner on the deck.)

Maybe we’ll see what adventures happen next.

Hopefully I’ll also be able to stop Mama from overdoing it.

Because the weather has her feeling pretty awful.

And I don’t like it when Mama doesn’t feel good.

Most importantly though?

There will be ball.

Lots and lots of ball.

Because for the first time in two weeks…

I get to be a little more like myself again.

And honestly?

That’s kind of a big deal.

💜 Mama Note: I think disabled people understand recovery a little differently. Getting better isn’t always about returning to exactly who you were before. Sometimes it’s about reclaiming small pieces of yourself one at a time. This week, one of those pieces happened to be a slightly slobbery neon green Chuck-It ball.

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.

Anyway…

My ball is outside.

My yard awaits.

Mama appears to be trying to sit down and rest.

Which means I need to supervise that immediately.

Duty calls.

And thankfully…

So do moderate zoomies. 🐾🎾💛

Until next Friday,

Luna 🐾
(on behalf of Mama)

© The Crippled Cryptid
Disability. Honesty. A little chaos.
(Absolutely dog fur and puppy love.)

🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa

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If you’d like to support the long, unglamorous work of survival and mobility:

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