Not too late for a Sundog pic, is it?
The old coot gave us another big scare this week, but he rallied. Again. We’re definitely not ready and it looks like he’s not quite, either.
Not too late for a Sundog pic, is it?
The old coot gave us another big scare this week, but he rallied. Again. We’re definitely not ready and it looks like he’s not quite, either.
The old dog is home and resting, not in any apparent pain or distress. We’re still not quite sure what happened — a small stroke, a seizure, or maybe he just fell because he’s old. They ran some tests and we’re watching and waiting.
If I live to be a million years old, I will not forget the sight of my daughter, fresh home from her first day of kindergarten, saying goodbye to him and “helping” him down the stairs by gently pushing his butt. I could barely start the car.
Anyway, thank you for your continued good energy. He’s been part of the family for almost thirteen years. Hard to imagine it any other way.
Sunday: celebrate dog birthday, remark on his good health.
Thursday: dog vomits all night, trip to the emergency vet shows possible bowel obstruction.
I see what you did there, Universe. Fuck you, too.
Good thoughts kindly accepted today as the story develops…
Sundog, birthday edition!
We adopted Jake from a farm downstate. There were three mama dogs on that farm and all of them had litters at about the same time. It was kind of a casual situation, and by the time we got there, no one knew exactly which puppies had been born on which day, though they were all born in early January according to the farmer.
So, we decided to observe Jake’s birthday on January 8 since it was Elvis’ birthday. The codger pictured here is 12 today, which I think is longer than Elvis made it if you do the conversion, and after a couple of scares a while back (liver disease, splenectomy) is doing remarkably well for a big, old dog.
I’m going to take him for a long walk by the river in a little bit. He’ll snoot around under the oak leaf carpet, pee on every third tree, maybe eat a stick, consider jumping in the river to get a duck but decide to just bark at them instead, and terrorize all the squirrels. It’s a good life.
Diagnosis: scratched cornea. The flash shows how his right eye is kinda swollen shut. Anyway, my poor guy gets the Cone of Shame for a week and drops for two weeks. And Daddy gets the good scotch. Goodnight, errbody.
And now we are at the emergency vet for some kind of eye problem! I WIN BEST MOTHERFUCKING SUNDAY NIGHT EVER!!!1!
Because things had been going pretty well for a few consecutive days, the Universe decides, in its perfect and infinite wisdom, to give me a badly limping dog today.
Turns out just to be a sprain, so a week of rest and NSAIDs should do it for the old boy.
But: sheesh, Universe.