Dash wasn't eating dry food today, but he was eating wet. I got him to eat most of a can of Castor & Pollux stew that he likes while I was finishing my own breakfast. I remember asking the vet yesterday what I should be feeding Dash. "Let him eat whatever he wants," the vet said. I'm convinced that this is vet code for "your dog is going to die."
By the time I finished breakfast, the rain had subsided to a gentle mist and I decided to take Dash on a walk. "Slow walks are good, overexertion is bad," the vet told me yesterday. I didn't think this was going to be a problem. Dash always walks slowly now. I put on his protective boots and off we went. About halfway through our walk, I noticed that one of the boots was missing. I wanted to turn around so we could find it, but Dash stubbornly wanted to keep moving forward. Before we made it home, he lost the second boot as well. I realized then that protecting Dash wasn't going to be easy.
After Dash had gone back to sleep, I retraced my steps through the park and managed to find both missing boots. Dash's dewclaw has healed, but in addition to the small rubber boots he'll be wearing on walks, I still have him wear the cone when I leave the house. Now that he's taking Plavix, I don't want him licking or injuring anything.
I had to go pay my storage warehouse rent today because my year is up tomorrow. I always pay a year in advance because I get the thirteenth month free. I was complaining to the manager about the relentless rent increases I get every year and he tried to convince me that I was actually was getting a good deal. "Almost everybody pays month-to-month and we raise their rent every nine months." "Your rent only goes up every thirteen months," he said. As he was trying to figure out how to give me the thirteenth month free on the company's new accounting software, we both started complaining about all manner of things. That's just what old men do.
The manager told me that he was working at the storage warehouse because he'd been laid off from his last two jobs because of his age. "You don't fit in with our corporate culture anymore," one of the companies told him. "I'm right there with you," I told the manager. It sucks to be cast aside because someone thinks you are too old. Maybe I'll end up working at a storage warehouse someday myself. If you're not already a Walmart greeter, that's where most of the old people seem to wind up.
Dash was moody today, but he eventually did end up eating enough. I had trouble writing my article, because every time I sat down at the computer Dash started slapping at my leg. He wanted me to come in the bedroom with him and take a nap. A nap sounded good, but I had lots to do today. I'm still waiting for the vet to tell me what to do in case Dash starts bleeding. I'm not sure what to feed him anymore either. Today seemed like the first day in a new long march. I'm determined to give Dash the best chance possible to stay alive. A lot of his future is up to luck, unfortunately. The blood clots in his heart could move or break apart at any time.
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