Have I ever mentioned how much I love my little girl? And how she brings such joy, such laughter into our lives?
Her hilarious egocentric episode on Sunday was soon followed by a great outpouring of love for me, her precious Mommy. These moments crack me up, for even though I know she means it, she does it all with such ... flair. She turns on her inner actress as she sets about gushing with love.
She floated -- yes, floated -- up to me yesterday, as I was sitting on the couch. She leaned against me, half resting in my lap. She closed her eyes half-way, I suppose in an effort to present some sort of alluring figure. Her hand gracefully extended, resting on my hair, stroking it lightly. She placed a very serene smile upon her face as she leaned in.
"Mommy," she said, breathy voice and all, "I love you so much!"
"Well, I love you too, baby," I answered, as she began to caress my cheek.
"Yes," she nodded slowly. "We love each other. And you ..." she planted a kiss on my cheek ...
"You are ... so ... nauseous."
Talk about being caught in a tough position -- do I accept her tokens of love with all the seriousness in which she presents them? Or do I burst out laughing?
Aidan answered it for me, as his little voice piped up from the other side of room where he was coloring.
"Grace, that's not right!" he corrected. "She's not nauseous ... she's ob-nauseous!"
Obnauseous?
Did he just call me obnoxious?
Yes, I believe he did ...
And laugh I did.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
Sorry, Jesus ... You've Got Some Competition
Grace is destined to be a singer of some kind. This girl will take on any song, anywhere, and belt it out ... whether she knows it or not. While other children in church -- Aidan included -- are busy coloring or otherwise occupying their time with quiet endeavors, Grace chooses to stand on the chair next to me, propped securely by my arm around her ... and she lets loose on the worship songs. Some of them she knows -- perhaps not all the words, but she certainly doesn't let that stop her. And yesterday, she discovered her favorite: "Your Grace is Enough."
Grace cannot read, but the one grouping of letter she can recognize is G-R-A-C-E. And there it was, in all its glory, up on the screen in front of the church -- like some kind of glorious marquis for a Hollywood actress. Her eyes lit up, her little finger pointed, a smile brightened her face -- "It's "Grace!" It's me!" And so she took off, singing heartily ... about herself.
A short while later, another song came on the screen: "In Christ Alone." I happen to love this song, and I was rather stunned when Grace suddenly stood as still as a statue ... then dropped down in her chair, sobbing her little heart out. What in the world could be wrong? Through her (very loud -- is there any other way?) gulps and sobs, she spat out the offense:
"My name isn't there! Now they're just singing about Jesus ... and I ... don't ... want ... it! What about me? What about me?!"
Oh, my ... I couldn't stop myself. I had to laugh. If you could encapsulate a moment which thoroughly illustrates how completely egocentric children are, this would be it. And this girl's got guts ... trying to trump Jesus is quite a feat! And of course, later on, her Omnicient Big Brother had to chime in with a lesson of his own. "The song's not about you, Grace," he gently chided. "It's about a different kind of "grace" ... a holy grace. You are not holy."
The loose definition of "holy" is "set apart." And you know, maybe Aidan isn't quite right ... I do believe Grace is "set apart" ... in one way or another!
Grace cannot read, but the one grouping of letter she can recognize is G-R-A-C-E. And there it was, in all its glory, up on the screen in front of the church -- like some kind of glorious marquis for a Hollywood actress. Her eyes lit up, her little finger pointed, a smile brightened her face -- "It's "Grace!" It's me!" And so she took off, singing heartily ... about herself.
A short while later, another song came on the screen: "In Christ Alone." I happen to love this song, and I was rather stunned when Grace suddenly stood as still as a statue ... then dropped down in her chair, sobbing her little heart out. What in the world could be wrong? Through her (very loud -- is there any other way?) gulps and sobs, she spat out the offense:
"My name isn't there! Now they're just singing about Jesus ... and I ... don't ... want ... it! What about me? What about me?!"
Oh, my ... I couldn't stop myself. I had to laugh. If you could encapsulate a moment which thoroughly illustrates how completely egocentric children are, this would be it. And this girl's got guts ... trying to trump Jesus is quite a feat! And of course, later on, her Omnicient Big Brother had to chime in with a lesson of his own. "The song's not about you, Grace," he gently chided. "It's about a different kind of "grace" ... a holy grace. You are not holy."
The loose definition of "holy" is "set apart." And you know, maybe Aidan isn't quite right ... I do believe Grace is "set apart" ... in one way or another!
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Dog-Days (Or: One Very Long Week Down)
When Saturday rolled around, it hit me how exhausted I truly was from the events of the week. The surgery took a toll not only on Jack but me as well, trudging along as needed but still ... under the busy-ness, the trips back and forth to the vet, the diligence and care (not to mention that I still have two kids to care of, one of whom was quite sick), the emotional streak runs silently underneath it all. By the time I woke up yesterday, a "free" day, I had a hard time moving.
Thankfully, Jack is doing very well -- at least on the surgical front. His incision is healing nicely, and now that the despised cone is off he is a much happier pup. It did indeed seem to be the culprit, as his shorn belly is a nice shade of pink now, instead of that horrible hue of an angry red-purple. His energy is slowly returning, and he doesn't seem to need the pain medication anymore, which is a good thing -- a zombie dog isn't much fun. If he could shout with glee he would, gobbling up his new canned food this morning as if it was a feast from heaven. "I should get bladder stones more often!" he's probably thinking. We'll be monitoring this switch for quite a while -- digestively (to make sure his stomach is settled with the quick-switch), as well as keeping an eye on the potential packing on o' the pounds.
His lower spine and back legs, however, are proving to be the bigger - and pestering -- problem. He is struggling with going up stairs, which at first we wrote off as a surgery-thing, but now I'm not so sure. Despite the steroids (more than a week to go), his back legs aren't responding -- they're still weak and wobbly. The vet described it very clearly -- it's just the "luck of the draw," in a sense, that the particular nerve that's being pinched is the communication line from the brain to his legs. If Jack wants to walk, the brain commands: "Walk!" The front legs get the message loud and clear, and begin to move immediately. The message, however, takes longer to get to the back legs because of the pinched line of communication, so there is a bit of a delayed reaction. "It's as if the brain sort of forgets the back legs are there," she explained.
OK -- it makes sense. So how do we fix it? "Back surgery," she said -- that's the most sure-fire way of correction. "But that's not an option for you guys right now, is it?" Ummm ... no. Well then, first we just wait and see what happens until the course of steroids is over. Maybe -- just maybe -- it will correct itself, the pressure will be relieved, and the messages will start rolling again. If not, then we have two things to look at and weigh: pain vs. wobbly legs. "I'd much rather have him pain-free," she said. "He might just have to live with wobbly legs for the rest of his life." So ... even though he's struggling, he does not seem to be in pain, but then again -- who knows. She suggested he might need to be on a steady, low dose of pain medication for the rest of his life. The rest of his life? We're talking (potentially, hopefully) years here!
That's kind of when my brain shut down. She said she would do some research and come up with options -- different avenues we can explore. OK -- you do that. I told her all I can do right now is concentrate on his healing, and when that's over and done with, then we'll keep a closer eye on his back and legs. My plate can only hold so much.
But I'm relieved he's turned a corner. He's still having accidents in the house (ugh!) but chalk that up to the steroids. Once the drugs are all out of his system, we're hoping our good ol' Jack will be back in our midst ...
Wobbly legs and all.
Thankfully, Jack is doing very well -- at least on the surgical front. His incision is healing nicely, and now that the despised cone is off he is a much happier pup. It did indeed seem to be the culprit, as his shorn belly is a nice shade of pink now, instead of that horrible hue of an angry red-purple. His energy is slowly returning, and he doesn't seem to need the pain medication anymore, which is a good thing -- a zombie dog isn't much fun. If he could shout with glee he would, gobbling up his new canned food this morning as if it was a feast from heaven. "I should get bladder stones more often!" he's probably thinking. We'll be monitoring this switch for quite a while -- digestively (to make sure his stomach is settled with the quick-switch), as well as keeping an eye on the potential packing on o' the pounds.
His lower spine and back legs, however, are proving to be the bigger - and pestering -- problem. He is struggling with going up stairs, which at first we wrote off as a surgery-thing, but now I'm not so sure. Despite the steroids (more than a week to go), his back legs aren't responding -- they're still weak and wobbly. The vet described it very clearly -- it's just the "luck of the draw," in a sense, that the particular nerve that's being pinched is the communication line from the brain to his legs. If Jack wants to walk, the brain commands: "Walk!" The front legs get the message loud and clear, and begin to move immediately. The message, however, takes longer to get to the back legs because of the pinched line of communication, so there is a bit of a delayed reaction. "It's as if the brain sort of forgets the back legs are there," she explained.
OK -- it makes sense. So how do we fix it? "Back surgery," she said -- that's the most sure-fire way of correction. "But that's not an option for you guys right now, is it?" Ummm ... no. Well then, first we just wait and see what happens until the course of steroids is over. Maybe -- just maybe -- it will correct itself, the pressure will be relieved, and the messages will start rolling again. If not, then we have two things to look at and weigh: pain vs. wobbly legs. "I'd much rather have him pain-free," she said. "He might just have to live with wobbly legs for the rest of his life." So ... even though he's struggling, he does not seem to be in pain, but then again -- who knows. She suggested he might need to be on a steady, low dose of pain medication for the rest of his life. The rest of his life? We're talking (potentially, hopefully) years here!
That's kind of when my brain shut down. She said she would do some research and come up with options -- different avenues we can explore. OK -- you do that. I told her all I can do right now is concentrate on his healing, and when that's over and done with, then we'll keep a closer eye on his back and legs. My plate can only hold so much.
But I'm relieved he's turned a corner. He's still having accidents in the house (ugh!) but chalk that up to the steroids. Once the drugs are all out of his system, we're hoping our good ol' Jack will be back in our midst ...
Wobbly legs and all.
Friday, July 31, 2009
A Canine Mystery Solved ... Sort Of
The jigsaw puzzle of maladies called Jack has partially been assembled.
After a rather long phone conversation with the vet who performed Jack's surgery, she was a bit concerned about some of the issues I told her we were facing. The searing red underbelly was potentially alarming; his apparent listlessness should not be continuing. She wanted me to take him in right away this afternoon, if I could. If I could? I've been in that office more times in the past 2 weeks than I have in the past 2 years, and I have a very sick boy on my hands too, both eyes seemingly pestered by pink eye now, along with a high fever. It was the last thing I wanted to do, in all honesty. But I also don't want my dog to suffer. Thankfully the toughest Grandma in the world was willing to watch the kids so I could tend to Jack.
He's quite a celebrity, it seems, at the office -- we were greeted by hearty hellos and sympathetic smiles. I don't think I want to be that well-known in this regard, but what I do appreciate is their obvious love for animals (and respect of their owners) and true concern for their well-being. After a short wait, we were ushered into the room for a long, detailed conversation with the doctor.
Amazingly, a few pieces of this many-year'd puzzle have now fallen into place. The biopsy of the stones came back, and they were indeed caused by diet. As in, food. As in, new food ... the new food that we switched to a few months back at the urging of a friend and über-dog lover. She chastised me for feeding Jack the equivalent of garbage over the past 9 and a half years, and declared that we must switch to Wellness.
Well, Wellness, in short, caused the bladder stones.
Apparently, what makes Wellness so healthy is that it has no fillers, such as corn and wheat. Great. But it also boasts -- in a good way, theoretically -- of a much finer grade of protein. Good in theory, but not for Jack. My poor boy had trouble processing all that protein, and instead of peeing it all out, itty bitty crystalized particles were left behind in his bladder. One particle stuck to another, and another, and another ... until you have a lovely, painful stone. Scratch that -- five stones.
The remedy? Switch food. Again.
This, then, lead to another avenue of discussion -- what kind of food to switch to. We can't go back to Pro Plan, the food o' choice for 9 and a half years, because we realized something in it had been causing his paw-ripping allergies for nearly a decade. So, after an interesting internet search and comparing the ingredients of Pro Plan to Wellness, we unofficially believe we have found the cause of Jack's allergies:
Corn!
Ah, the puzzle is coming together. We must now find a brand that does not contain corn. Well, that's Wellness. But Wellness causes bladder stones. So now what do we do? She then searched the ingredients of the two top brands which are made specifically for this kind of urinary issue ... one of the top 5 ingredients? Corn. Sure, it will clear up his bladder problem once and for all, but the allergies and dry coat will return. Not good.
So, answers are found ... but others remain elusive. The temporary solution: stick to Wellness, but switch to canned food. The reason? Jack needs help diluting all that protein, so he can easily pee it all out the way he's supposed to. Water is the key to dilution, and canned food is high in water. So ... mix canned food with extra water and hope for the best. And meanwhile, he'll be peeing far more than usual because of all this water intake. Great.
I'm none too pleased with this switch -- a 10-can box of food cost me $26 today. 10 cans ... only 10 days. The math on his diet alone is staggering. The alternative? Stick to dry food, but be on some kind of dilution drug for the rest of his life. Unbelievable.
So ... a few problems solved. The 8-year allergy mystery has been tidied up. The bladder stones have been identified. We should be on track now with the proper food. He's healing very nicely from his surgery, and in fact we can probably get the stitches out on Tuesday instead of waiting the full 2 weeks. The raw underbelly was, thankfully, only caused by his cone rubbing on the skin as he desperately tried to do his instinctual dog-thing and lick, lick, lick. Now, Jack is cone-free, provided we keep a very close eye on him and thwart all attempts at licking. His attitude changed dramatically at the removal of the plastic cone -- a good deal of that listlessness was immediately erased. Tonight, for the first time in a long time, it feels as if our Jack is back home.
And his spine issue?
Well, that's another story for another day -- something a little food can't fix.
Wake Me Up When It's Over
Our care-giving saga continues ...
Poor Jack is having a reaction to ... something. The steroids, perhaps? We're not sure, but yesterday he had about a half dozen accidents in the house -- on the carpet mostly, but twice on the loveseat. Thankfully, in regard to the furniture, we were a bit more prepared, laying plastic garbage bags down underneath an old, thick towel and a large folded sheet. Still, it's a mess. The nurse assured he me shouldn't have accidents, but here we are ... carpet cleaner in hand and wondering why.
Last night, while watching Revolutionary Road (excellent movie but, my oh my, how despairing!), I glanced over at Jack and did a double-take. His entire sadly-shaved belly was burning red, inflamed, an ugly near-purple shade. What in the world can that be? An infection? He's on antibiotics. It was warm and sensitive, as he flinched at my touch. No shaking, though -- no apparent pain. But still ... that can't be a good sign.
On the "Good News" front, we did find a solution to his alarming lack of interest in food. Like I said, a Beagle who turns his nose up at food is one sick puppy. A Beagle could be at the Canine Pearly Gates and put the waiting angel on hold -- "Excuse me, sorry ... just gotta eat one more meal ..." For Jack to turn away from food is indeed troubling. While he still shows no interest in his regular dog food, he will -- thankfully! -- scarf down as much boiled rice and jarred baby food that we can spoon into his bowl. Throw a few pills into the mix and he's overjoyed. Phew -- at least that problem is solved.
And the silly bugger has figured out a way to lay just so ... to contort his body just so ... to get his long tongue around the cone to lick at his belly. You can't help but laugh -- Beagles are known for their tenacity. No silly plastic cone will stop this dog from licking!
So ... in a half hour I have to call the vet. Again. I'm praying that I don't have to take him in. Again. I think I will be needing surgery for all this wallet-hemorrhaging.
Meanwhile, my Nursemaid Schtick continues on another front ... After a fun day of swimming with my nephews at Jim and Michelle's house, Aidan suddenly dropped from 100 miles per hour to zero. "I want to go home," he whimpered. Now that is even more troubling than Jack refusing food! I asked him what was wrong --"I'm just really tired," he said. As soon as we got home he climbed into my lap ... and nearly burned me up. Sure enough -- over 101. Just like that ... Where that came from is a mystery.
And, to top it all off ... his left eye is bright red. Sound familiar? "I have eyelashes in my eye," he cried. Oh, baby, those aren't eyelashes ...
Now I'm debating whether or not to take the hesitant route of self-medication (which I so rarely resort to), using up Grace's remaining prescription eye drops from her bout with pink eye ... or do I take him to the doctor? I'm loathe to drop another pile o' green just to hear the doctor confirm what's pretty obvious. Any advice?
It's not even 9:00 a.m. and I'm already tired. Oh, and how Murphy can you get -- we ran out of Children's Tylenol. Guess a road trip is somewhere in my day as well ...
Poor Jack is having a reaction to ... something. The steroids, perhaps? We're not sure, but yesterday he had about a half dozen accidents in the house -- on the carpet mostly, but twice on the loveseat. Thankfully, in regard to the furniture, we were a bit more prepared, laying plastic garbage bags down underneath an old, thick towel and a large folded sheet. Still, it's a mess. The nurse assured he me shouldn't have accidents, but here we are ... carpet cleaner in hand and wondering why.
Last night, while watching Revolutionary Road (excellent movie but, my oh my, how despairing!), I glanced over at Jack and did a double-take. His entire sadly-shaved belly was burning red, inflamed, an ugly near-purple shade. What in the world can that be? An infection? He's on antibiotics. It was warm and sensitive, as he flinched at my touch. No shaking, though -- no apparent pain. But still ... that can't be a good sign.
On the "Good News" front, we did find a solution to his alarming lack of interest in food. Like I said, a Beagle who turns his nose up at food is one sick puppy. A Beagle could be at the Canine Pearly Gates and put the waiting angel on hold -- "Excuse me, sorry ... just gotta eat one more meal ..." For Jack to turn away from food is indeed troubling. While he still shows no interest in his regular dog food, he will -- thankfully! -- scarf down as much boiled rice and jarred baby food that we can spoon into his bowl. Throw a few pills into the mix and he's overjoyed. Phew -- at least that problem is solved.
And the silly bugger has figured out a way to lay just so ... to contort his body just so ... to get his long tongue around the cone to lick at his belly. You can't help but laugh -- Beagles are known for their tenacity. No silly plastic cone will stop this dog from licking!
So ... in a half hour I have to call the vet. Again. I'm praying that I don't have to take him in. Again. I think I will be needing surgery for all this wallet-hemorrhaging.
Meanwhile, my Nursemaid Schtick continues on another front ... After a fun day of swimming with my nephews at Jim and Michelle's house, Aidan suddenly dropped from 100 miles per hour to zero. "I want to go home," he whimpered. Now that is even more troubling than Jack refusing food! I asked him what was wrong --"I'm just really tired," he said. As soon as we got home he climbed into my lap ... and nearly burned me up. Sure enough -- over 101. Just like that ... Where that came from is a mystery.
And, to top it all off ... his left eye is bright red. Sound familiar? "I have eyelashes in my eye," he cried. Oh, baby, those aren't eyelashes ...
Now I'm debating whether or not to take the hesitant route of self-medication (which I so rarely resort to), using up Grace's remaining prescription eye drops from her bout with pink eye ... or do I take him to the doctor? I'm loathe to drop another pile o' green just to hear the doctor confirm what's pretty obvious. Any advice?
It's not even 9:00 a.m. and I'm already tired. Oh, and how Murphy can you get -- we ran out of Children's Tylenol. Guess a road trip is somewhere in my day as well ...
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Pupdate: First Full Day Home
Now that Jack has been in the familiar comfortable environs of home, I had hoped he would start to perk up. It seems that, perhaps due to his age, his recovery response is a bit slow. He doesn't want to move much, he's lethargic, and when the pain medication wears off he's one sad bundle of shivers. He's on three pills: one for pain (up to 4 times per day), an antibiotic (once a day), and a steroid for his back, whose course had been interrupted due to the surgery. Going cold turkey on a steroid halfway through the course is never a good thing, so I'm concerned about that. Right now, after a 3-day absence, they want him back on it twice a day for two days, and then we begin (again) the weaning process (once a day for 5 days, then every other day until finished). I hope and pray I keep all these little pills straight!
This morning presented with an entirely new -- and completely unexpected -- problem: Jack won't eat. It's a scenario that simply does not exist:
Jack + Beagle = food
So this new equation (Jack + Beagle = no food) simply does not compute. On the one hand, I can't blame him -- if I was ripped up and drugged up, I would not have the slightest interest in food either. However, these important little pills require the consumption of food, and a good amount of it, or else we'll have an entirely different -- and very serious -- problem on our hands. A shredded stomach is not what we want to deal with.
We slathered his pills in peanut butter, a sure-fire way of ingestion. Jack never, ever turns down peanut butter. But today? A quick sniff and a turn of the head. Sorry, not interested. We hated to do it, but we had no choice but to resort to force feeding. After about 10 minutes we finally got it into his mouth (boy, was he mad). Half of the problem was solved -- pills are now in. But what about the food?
I called the vet -- "you have to get him to eat ... anything," she said. I did notice that he had no qualms about gobbling up a few Honey-Nut Cheerios that Grace had dropped ... what about that? "Fine," said the nurse. "If he wants an entire bowlful of Cheerios, let him. He needs food in his stomach right away." Sure enough, as I was on hold waiting to talk to the surgical technician, Jack slowly but steadily ate the bowl of cereal that I offered to him. Well, it's a start. My errand today: stock up on chicken baby food and mix it with rice for his meals. If he turns up his nose at that we're in serious trouble.
Oh, dear boy, how we hate to see you suffer like this ... But we were assured that he should turn the corner in a couple of days. They just can't come soon enough.
This morning presented with an entirely new -- and completely unexpected -- problem: Jack won't eat. It's a scenario that simply does not exist:
Jack + Beagle = food
So this new equation (Jack + Beagle = no food) simply does not compute. On the one hand, I can't blame him -- if I was ripped up and drugged up, I would not have the slightest interest in food either. However, these important little pills require the consumption of food, and a good amount of it, or else we'll have an entirely different -- and very serious -- problem on our hands. A shredded stomach is not what we want to deal with.
We slathered his pills in peanut butter, a sure-fire way of ingestion. Jack never, ever turns down peanut butter. But today? A quick sniff and a turn of the head. Sorry, not interested. We hated to do it, but we had no choice but to resort to force feeding. After about 10 minutes we finally got it into his mouth (boy, was he mad). Half of the problem was solved -- pills are now in. But what about the food?
I called the vet -- "you have to get him to eat ... anything," she said. I did notice that he had no qualms about gobbling up a few Honey-Nut Cheerios that Grace had dropped ... what about that? "Fine," said the nurse. "If he wants an entire bowlful of Cheerios, let him. He needs food in his stomach right away." Sure enough, as I was on hold waiting to talk to the surgical technician, Jack slowly but steadily ate the bowl of cereal that I offered to him. Well, it's a start. My errand today: stock up on chicken baby food and mix it with rice for his meals. If he turns up his nose at that we're in serious trouble.
Oh, dear boy, how we hate to see you suffer like this ... But we were assured that he should turn the corner in a couple of days. They just can't come soon enough.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
A Happy Homecoming (maybe "Happy" isn't the word...)
This afternoon Aidan and I trekked to the vet to pick up our beloved pooch. I'm not sure what I expected to see, when the nurse (are they called nurses?) lead him out, but I wasn't prepared for the sorry site of my pal.
He was a mess. His cone-encased head was hanging low, he walked like a drunkard, his tongue was hanging out, his eyes were bloodshot -- my poor boy was in bad shape. "He's doing great!" the nurse said encouragingly. Maybe she was talking about the other dog by the counter.
After spending a long time talking about how to care for Jack, and what to expect, we finally left. Poor Jack cried the entire ride home, in obvious discomfort. He did settle down for about an hour, when I lifted him up onto our bed and laid down next to him. He spooned as best as he could, finding the warmth and comfort that he needed so that he could completely relax.
Tonight will be tough, the nurse said, when the injection of some kind of oxy-something wears off. We then have pain pills to give him as needed, which I'm sure he'll let us know. We've already had a not-so-nice accident, and our bottle of carpet cleaner is at the ready. In two weeks we go back for the removal of the stitches, and by that point all should be well.
But in the meantime ...
It hurts to see your dog hurt.
He was a mess. His cone-encased head was hanging low, he walked like a drunkard, his tongue was hanging out, his eyes were bloodshot -- my poor boy was in bad shape. "He's doing great!" the nurse said encouragingly. Maybe she was talking about the other dog by the counter.
After spending a long time talking about how to care for Jack, and what to expect, we finally left. Poor Jack cried the entire ride home, in obvious discomfort. He did settle down for about an hour, when I lifted him up onto our bed and laid down next to him. He spooned as best as he could, finding the warmth and comfort that he needed so that he could completely relax.
Tonight will be tough, the nurse said, when the injection of some kind of oxy-something wears off. We then have pain pills to give him as needed, which I'm sure he'll let us know. We've already had a not-so-nice accident, and our bottle of carpet cleaner is at the ready. In two weeks we go back for the removal of the stitches, and by that point all should be well.
But in the meantime ...
It hurts to see your dog hurt.
"He needs to stay as quiet as possible so he can rest," said the nurse.
Ummm ... have you met my children?
They can't leave him alone. It's cute, I admit, but still ...
Ummm ... have you met my children?
They can't leave him alone. It's cute, I admit, but still ...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
