the little bastard would like you to know he's fine, and I'm crazy.
Today I picked up the phone TWICE to call the vet, and schedule what I feared would be That Last Trip. When I woke up this morning Murphy was deeply asleep. He who used to pop awake before the alarm, who took the smell of brewing coffee as the sign that the DAY HAD BEGUN, GET UP!!! was not even aware of me turning on the lights and getting a cup of said coffee.
He did eat without hand feeding, but only ate half before wandering off. Went back to bed. When I left for work this morning he was back in that deep, deep sleep, and I was seriously questioning what I should do. What is the right choice for a 15.5 year old dog who was diagnosed at 9 with a usually fatal intestinal condition that normally kills within 2 years*? *At least when he was diagnosed; I haven't really kept up, but I do have the impression that treatment has advanced and the prognosis isn't quite so dire in all cases. Or Murphy is just a freak.
Anyway, he was so listless and eating so little the last few days, I started having that feeling that I was doing him a disservice by NOT making that vet appointment and having THAT talk.
And then I came home from work, and the little bastard ran (okay, trotted briskly on tiny arthritic legs) to greet me when Sophie did. And then pooped outside! And cleaned his plate of chicken and sweet potato at dinner with no hand feeding needed. And then bitched until I broke out the Teddy Grahams.
No, seriously, I am not making this up. I have no idea what the hell to do with this dog. And if I didn't know he's too short to reach it, I'd swear he was looking up my browser history on my computer while I'm at work. His quality of life is fine, and Gimmee Mah Teddy Grahams!
It's exhausting, seriously. I am drained.
Yeah, yeah, whatever. Is the Teddy Grahams bowl empty? Why is this?