For you curious readers and fans of Sparkey, he's really hanging in there. Despite his protestations and desire to escape the IV needle (he runs when I rip open the outer wrapping of the IV fluid bag each night), Sparkey is eating with (some) gusto, walking the neighborhood, eating grass, sleeping with practiced panache and skill, and being his Bobby D. Dog self. Pills wrapped in sliced turkey or bologna are now a cinch, and my greatest worry is that I am going to Atlanta for three days and nurse-friends of mine must come and administer the dreaded IV fluids. I hope Sparkey can tolerate visiting nurses for three days. Maybe it'll be a nice break from his routine struggles with me. I know I'll enjoy the break from the nightly infusion, myself.
Anyway, the old Bob is doin' OK, and we treasure the days as they roll by. Each morning we awake and see him still breathing is a gift, and each day we come home to his floppy ears, bony butt, and stinky farts is a further gift. What more could we desire? (Perhaps a little less gas....)