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Me and the dogs
Good news - the essay assignment from Hell is finished and sent. It's probably crap, since I maintain the assignment question did not make any sense, but I managed to make a decent argument that (I hope) is relevant to the question, and force it into language that'll make it seem like I give a crap about the subject matter.
*shrug* I can afford to fail this one, anyway. It'll average out, as long as I do well on the next (and last) one.
Poppy isn't going back to the vet until next week, as Sis doesn't have an evening free. But she's been "resting" for a full month. We've done our best to follow the vet's injunctions: no walkies, no ball-throwing. She still plays ball, there's no way we could stop that, but the only one we left her was a squeaky. It's bigger than the tennis balls she usually plays with and we haven't been throwing it. She's been fine. A bit miserable, since she's been denied her favourite game, but no trouble with the leg.
Anyhow, the useless fiance decided yesterday that since the month was up, he could take the dogs out. They didn't even get to the top of the hill before Poppy was limping again. The moron carried her home, and she was still limping a bit when I got home from work. Poor mite.
On the not-exactly-bright side, this does mean we've got something to tell the vet. But judging from what was said on the last visit the vet is going to recommend surgery. This is not good. Cost-wise we're okay: we have really good pet insurance for Poppy so they'll cover it. But I'm worried about how she'll come through it.
Rocky is still with us, though he's very much in decline. I hate to see him like this, but Sis refuses to admit he's bad enough for that last visit to the vet. He can still climb the stairs, so he's fine, according to her. Sure, he can still climb, but listening to him do it is painful. It takes him ages and it's such a huge effort. But he won't let anyone help him. I hate this, I really do.
Mel - are you up for sushi on Monday?
*shrug* I can afford to fail this one, anyway. It'll average out, as long as I do well on the next (and last) one.
Poppy isn't going back to the vet until next week, as Sis doesn't have an evening free. But she's been "resting" for a full month. We've done our best to follow the vet's injunctions: no walkies, no ball-throwing. She still plays ball, there's no way we could stop that, but the only one we left her was a squeaky. It's bigger than the tennis balls she usually plays with and we haven't been throwing it. She's been fine. A bit miserable, since she's been denied her favourite game, but no trouble with the leg.
Anyhow, the useless fiance decided yesterday that since the month was up, he could take the dogs out. They didn't even get to the top of the hill before Poppy was limping again. The moron carried her home, and she was still limping a bit when I got home from work. Poor mite.
On the not-exactly-bright side, this does mean we've got something to tell the vet. But judging from what was said on the last visit the vet is going to recommend surgery. This is not good. Cost-wise we're okay: we have really good pet insurance for Poppy so they'll cover it. But I'm worried about how she'll come through it.
Rocky is still with us, though he's very much in decline. I hate to see him like this, but Sis refuses to admit he's bad enough for that last visit to the vet. He can still climb the stairs, so he's fine, according to her. Sure, he can still climb, but listening to him do it is painful. It takes him ages and it's such a huge effort. But he won't let anyone help him. I hate this, I really do.
Mel - are you up for sushi on Monday?