It's 6:21 am and my big yellow dog is snoring at my feet. He had a pretty good night; Hugh was up with him at 2:00 and I was up with him again at 4:30, but, considering the fact that I was up with him every couple of hours over the weekend, twice in one night is a vast improvement.
Since our visit with the vet on Friday, he has started eating again (wet food, mixed with his usual kibble seems to be the magic cure) and, on Sunday, he followed me around the yard while I cleaned out my flowerbeds. He's still limping and refusing to put much weight on his front paw, but, he's limping faster. For what that's worth.
I'm hopeful that he will make a full recovery at some point, but, I am realistic about the time that it is going to take. In the meantime, he is enjoying a lot of affection and special privileges, like, laying on the carpet in the middle of the living room instead of on the hardwood floor by the back door, and, eating in the house instead of outside in his kennel.
I would say that he is spoiled, but, I'm pretty sure that was always the case, so this is really nothing new; I just want him to feel better, soon.
If you said a prayer for the big guy last week, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. If you could keep those prayers coming, I will be eternally grateful.