He was doing better- and then John called this afternoon- after swinging by to pick up some boiled chicken and rice for him- to say that he was really lethargic and that the vet had done a new blood test and his white blood cell count was nearly double what it had been prior to the surgery. The doctor offered to open him back up to see if his stitches were holding and John told him not to. He was worried he’d not make it through another surgery. Good call on that. So the vet removed the food- he had hard, soft and the chicken/rice mixture (btw- the dog did eat some cheese but he’s NEVER turned that down- next to bones it’s his favorite thing!) and shoved some liquid dog food down his throat via a syringe. Doc said that he could be so weak, he just doesn’t wanna eat, so we just have to play it by ear now.
I’m getting a substitute teacher for lessons in the morning- and my helper will assist the shoer, and I’m going, first thing, to see that red dog of mine. It will lift his spirits to see me. I’m sort of numb at the moment about the whole ordeal. I don’t know why. I can’t bring myself to cry about it though. It’s out of my hands. If he lives it’s his choice now. We’ve done all that we can do.
What's on your mind?