Last week we had the vet out again, this time to go ahead and give Bridgett her yearly shots. It seems that Old Dog has taken well to the new pain medicine (although the jury is still out on whether she likes the codeine more, or the wet cat food we use to entice her to eat with).
Going ahead and paying for the yearly shots is my way of saying that I’m investing in her living at least one more year. Betting, I should say. I’m willing to bet $200 that she’ll stay with us through the winter and into next spring. Having said that, now, I’ve probably cursed her. BUT STILL.
Most of me is happy about that. I love this dog to pieces; she’s kind of dumb, or smart at playing dumb – I can’t ever figure out which. She’s seen me single, with a dumb boyfriend, with an amazing and wonderful husband. She’s the last dog I’ll ever own that my daddy got to meet; she’s sweet and loyal like a Good Dog should be. But it kills me a little inside every time she slides off the dog bed and gets stuck in the corner, and I have to lift her out or move the heavy dog bed. I cry inside watching her get up when she can’t get any purchase. I worry that she’s gone off her nut when she stands at the window and barks barks barks barks barks at either nothing, or something that went by ten minutes previously. I worry that she’s so loyal that she can’t leave when she needs to leave. But as the vet said, right now there are more good days than bad days (especially with the new pain meds) so I’ll just try to take it one day at a time.
I also worry that when Corwin is Old Dog and we get a New Backup Dog, that she’s going to teach her younger sister how to beg for bacon when Tim is cooking. It’s cute, but it gets old real quick when I’m the one cooking. 😉