The dog is not well. For the first time... well, this is the first time he's told us. He's 17.5 pounds - he's usually around 20. He's confused and aloof - he's usually completely personable. More present, more genuine than most people I will probably ever encounter.
Vet just called, blood work is fine. Antibiotics have begun their war. If not, deeper testing is out there for us, she says.
He jumped up unto the bed this morning to get in the middle of us and get petted. That's been missing from our mornings for the last few days. So, good sign. Hoping for more. Hoping and waiting, hoping and waiting. Also, preparing. A little bit.
I sat and I sat. Sometimes I'd wring my hands. When it's a dog it's difficult to impossible to know. I didn't know. I couldn't know. I didn't even think the vet would know. I didn't think the tests would know. Which of these things is the scariest not knowings? I didn't know. What do you do when you don't know.
