I was going to write a post about how we are having our official 48 Hours of Winter - tomorrow's pre-dawn temperature could be as low as 30 degrees F! AIEEEE!! The local weatherbunnies (this is not me being sexist; the boys are weatherbunnies too) are bundled up like Arctic Explorers, and are as excited as Jim Cantore in thundersnow.
Yes, it may hit 30 degrees tomorrow morning. And then it'll be 81 degrees on Sunday. Excuse me while I am merely annoyed, because I'm so damn tired of putting the warm duvet on and off the bed. I just put the damn thing on again last night, and I'll have to pull it off again in 48 hours, AND break out the shorts and sunscreen. I'm just hoping we get a few days of spring before I have to run the A/C 24/7 again.
Murphy. Yes. Well, I'm just not sure what to say. He's over his enchantment with the chicken smoothies, though I can get him to eat if I hand feed him - yes, I am now hand-feeding him baby food; I scoop it up and he licks it off my fingers. But he's licking less each day, and he's not pooping much. It's been 48 hours since he's really pooped.
It was really cold this morning. I dragged him out to pee, and he peed, but didn't poop. I didn't think much of it, I figured he'd do a big ol' messy, stinky poop in the comfort of his nice, warm house, well away from the potty pads mommy puts down liberally in every room. (Did I mention that the new flooring was a really, really good investment?) So he came in from the cold, went back to his little bed, and didn't seem to be in any distress. I went to work, figuring I'd come home to a mess to clean up. I didn't.
Tonight he did something quite weird when he first got out of his little bed - and I'm wondering if he got out of his bed much at all during the day. He acted like he couldn't put one of his hind legs down, and held it out at an odd angle, hopping awkwardly on three legs. I picked him up, ran a hand down his leg, it felt normal, he didn't flinch. It wasn't about his leg. I carried him outside, and he at first was hesitant to put the leg down, but then awkwardly "assumed the position," in a three-legged squat, with one leg held out as far as he could in mid-air, strained and tried to poop, and all he passed was a yellowish liquid. That did seem to relieve some discomfort, and he came back into the house a happier dog, walking normally, bounced up the stairs under his own power, but ate very little, and is back in his little bed again.
And I'm now thinking he has an intestinal blockage of some sort. He has years of scar tissue from his disease; vets have remarked on it before, but it was one of those "Yeah, well, nothing much to do about it," issues. It honestly doesn't seem to be bothering him much - no, I'm lying to myself. I'm here at the computer and Sophie is snoring on a blanket beside me. Last night, Murphy was here in the room with us. Tonight, he's in his little bed in the living room, and can't be bothered with joining us. He's a tough little guy, but he's not doing well tonight.