Two restful nights and a doctor named 'Good'

As Capt. Quinn nears a week old, we celebrate the fact that he's adjusting smoothly to life at home.

We just wish we could say the same for Dexie the Wonderdog.

Dexie has lived here for a year and a half. She'd pee on the floor a few times, but otherwise adapted well. While she's largely been great with Quinn, she hasn't gotten used to the vastly reduced levels of attention directed her way.

She left a puddle of urine in Grandma Smith's bedroom this afternoon. That was right before she snuck a bite of the hamburger patties I had set out to thaw for dinner.

Dexie will improve. Hopefully as fast as young Quinn has.


It's been two nights in a row that the wee little man -- Captain of the U.S.S. Fussy Britches, in case you were wondering -- has righted his ship and slept a fairly regulated schedule.

Four hours of sleep. Eat. Four hours of sleep. Eat. Repeat.

It makes me wish I was a baby. All I want to do right now is sleep and eat. Heck, I'd even do it every four hours, so long as someone woke me up.

Yesterday was the good captain's first visit to the doctor, and he came out shining. Our pediatrician's name is Dr. Good. Now, there's a dentist in town who's name is Dr. Hurt. He has billboards around town that says, "It's my name, not my intention." Dr. Good could do something similar, saying: "Yes, it's my real name. And yes, I'm good. Very good, actually. Just ask the Siemers family."

Or something punchier.

Dr. Good next week will perform a little snip-snip procedure that most of us boys have endured but don't remember. I'm not talking about the umbilical cord either. But the good Capt. Quinn is a trooper. And the doctor, well, he's just Good.

Today's picture I call, "Get that camera out of my sleeping face":