All he asks from me is the food to give him strength, All he ever needs is love and that he knows he'll get

*We have an update! It's below! Oh yes it is!*

Fisher, my dog, recently went through a rough couple of weeks but he's getting back to his old, frisky self. He's even daring to try to mount Lana, the real bitch of the house. And she promptly lays the smack down on his ass. Which he loves. The dumb little shit goes back for more. Apparently my boy dog loves him some rough lovin'.

Lana says: Watch as I open up this can of wup ass on the big dummy.

Anyway.

Tomorrow he'll be getting operated on. The vet will be going into his liver to take a sample to biopsy.

It's hard for me to go through with this now that he's acting so much like his old self. I feel a bit responsible for not speaking up for the poor pooch in the last month. The vet messed with the poor dog's system with too many medications on top of each other. I should have known better, and I did, but I was caught up with trying to get him well again.

I tell my students constantly that it's alright to question what your pet's doctor is prescribing. I believe in titers and not over-vaccinating. I think a proper diet is important to an animals well being and if you tell me your dog's food comes from the supermarket and it looks like little pork chops and fake carrots I'll tell you exactly how I feel about that vile crap you're feeding your four-legged friend.

And then it's my dog who ends up sick at an early age.

Fuck you, Irony. Crawl away and die.

But this post was not supposed to be about me beating myself up. Live and learn. Besides, I've been doing enough self-flaggelation lately.

What I need, what Fisher needs, is your good thoughts, prayers, juju, whatever. We need positivity and good vibes so that the doctor won't find any funny little cells in his biopsy.

And I, in return, will give you a cute dog and his girl picture:

Oh, the love. The looooove. Can you feel it?

It's an oldie but a goodie.

Tonight Mr. C gave Chicky, who was being hell on wheels, a choice between giving him a kiss or kissing Fisher on the nose. Guess which one she chose?

Yeah.

We need this dog to be around for a long time.


(The Cat Stevens song the title of this post came from can be found here. Dear lawd, it got me all choked up. And I DO NOT blame pregnancy hormones at all.)


*No biopsy after all! Hurrah!! The vet checked Fisher's values again and found they had gone way down so a biopsy is not necessary at this point. They're running another, much less invasive test right now as we speak but so far things look pretty good. There are some weird numbers but nothing to be too freaked out about.

Which makes me wonder one of two things: 1) You all have got some powerful juju and you might want to consider playing the lottery or 2) My vet is fucking with us and the battery of tests the poor dog has had in the past month are all bogus. I'm hoping for the juju thing. Good luck with those scratch tickets.

He still has bladder stones and will require a very expensive (oh my christ) operation and at that time they might take a piece of his liver to test. But until then we'll all go along our merry way and pretend there is nothing wrong with him and none of this happened. Which is the way I prefer to live anyway.

Lalalalala.*