Pirate Ted, Quarter-End Chaos, and the Week That Wouldn’t Behave

You know those weeks that look routine?

The kind where you glance at the calendar and think, “Hey, this might actually be a low-key week.”
The kind where the biggest item on your radar is a quarterly report or a lab draw?

Yeah... that’s the kind of week that always ends up throwing the biggest punch.

This was one of those.

The week kicked off looking perfectly average. I was wrapping up end-of-quarter numbers, which I actually don’t mind doing anymore. When you’ve done it for years, you kind of get into a rhythm. The systems are in place, the books are tight, and it's just a matter of reviewing how the firm performed over the last three months.

Q3 was strong. We helped a ton of clients. We brought in a lot of new ones. The numbers were good, the growth was better, and I am excited about where we’re headed.

We also had some new attorneys onboarding. One in particular was a full-circle moment; she used to work with us before law school, worked part-time through school, and had just gotten her bar results. Now she’s back as a full-fledged lawyer. That’s the kind of stuff that reminds me why we build what we build.

So yes, professionally speaking, the week was shaping up to be solid.

Tuesday was a simple lab draw for me. Routine. Clean results. No drama.

Wednesday, Teddy (our French bulldog) had an eye appointment to check on a previous graft. The vet said it wasn’t perfect, but it was holding. Seemed stable. That felt like a green light.

Also around this time, I tweaked my back at the gym. Not a major injury; more of a “you’re-not-25-anymore” reminder.

I’ve been in car accidents before, so I know what real back and neck pain feels like; the kind our clients deal with every day. Thankfully, this week’s back tweak wasn’t anywhere near that level. It was more of a reminder than a real injury; a tight spot in my mid-back that flares up every so often, likely from where I broke a few ribs years ago. There’s probably some scar tissue or adhesions in that area, which makes it easier to aggravate.

Still, it gave me a firsthand reminder of how frustrating even mild back pain can be; the kind that makes you move slower, miss workouts, and mentally tiptoe through your day. It also gave me a fresh dose of empathy for the clients we fight for; the ones who are dealing with pain that doesn’t just inconvenience their week, but changes their lives.

So I skipped a couple workouts, stretched a little more, and moved on.

And that was the theme so far: little things. Minor inconveniences. A couple detours.

Then came Thursday.

Holly and I had an appointment with our architect. We’ve been planning some home projects and this was one of those meetings we’d had on the calendar for weeks. We were both excited about finally getting to go over the plans, talk through ideas, and actually visualize things.

But about 30 minutes before we had to leave, Teddy coughed while drinking water… and tore the graft on his eye. Not just a small tear; he ripped a hole in his eyelid.

Instant pain.

Holly texted Teddy’s eye specialist in Newnan, who’s one of the top veterinary ophthalmologists in the Southeast. Unfortunately… closed. No appointments. Not even the team available to triage.

We were stuck.

So, I called in the cavalry, my mom, to come watch Teddy while we tried to figure things out and keep the architect meeting. We weren’t abandoning him, but we also couldn’t just sit and do nothing. The goal was to make the appointment quick and then circle back with a plan.

Meanwhile, the vet’s office called back. Their team took a look at photos and confirmed what we were fearing: there was a good chance Teddy was going to lose his eye. And to make things worse, most of the local clinics weren’t even equipped to handle the kind of surgery he’d need.

We were referred to UGA. They said they could sedate him that night, but they wouldn’t even think about surgery until the following day. And even then, they didn’t sound too optimistic.

That’s when someone recommended Auburn.

I didn’t even realize Auburn’s vet hospital was just 90 minutes from our house. We called, and they said to bring him in right away. So we packed him up and hit the road.

When we arrived, their specialist came out and did a full exam. The verdict? The eye couldn’t be saved, but they had the ability and the right people to do the surgery the next day.

Teddy is a short-nosed breed, and anesthesia is always a higher risk. The A team wasn’t on that night, so they wanted to wait for the full crew in the morning.

Honestly? I appreciated the caution. I’d rather wait 12 hours than rush something and lose him entirely.

So we left Teddy there for the night, heartbroken but hopeful.

Friday morning, the surgery went forward as planned. It went well. Teddy officially became a one-eyed dog.

We drove down that afternoon to pick him up, and surprisingly, he was in great spirits. No howling. No whining. Just a little lopsided and definitely confused about why depth perception was suddenly not a thing anymore.

That first night at home, he walked into a few walls. Missed a jump. But nothing major. The vet said his brain would start adjusting within a few days; and sure enough, by Sunday, he was moving around like normal.

Now, we call him Pirate Ted.

And you know what? It fits.

That whole ordeal threw a wrench in our weekend plans. We’d originally had a few things on the schedule, but one of us ended up home at all times to keep an eye on Pirate Ted.

But honestly, I’m just grateful. Grateful for a vet clinic that didn’t just see our dog but cared for him like he was their own.

And of course, grateful for Pirate Ted; adapting to his new normal with all the courage and stubbornness you’d expect from a Frenchie.

Sometimes the most “routine” weeks are the ones that show you what you’re really made of.

If you're navigating life after an injury, and need someone to fight for you while you focus on healing, In pain, call Shane.

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