Jesse's not in hospital any more. We picked him up Saturday evening. He is able to walk albeit like a drunk. He drinks a lot and pees even more, but he won't eat anything. He turns his nose up at all his favorites. I may need to score some pot for him and give him a shotgun. That's what friends do. He'd do it for me if he knew how to smoke.
His eyes aren't jiggling like they were. He just looks sad. He spoke yesterday for the first time in a week, and I take this as a positive sign. He also tried to get up on his favorite sofa instead of just passing out on the floor. I pray that this signifies progress.
Jesse has been my friend for almost 10 years and has lived with me for 8 years. He is a damned fine dog considering his background as an urban stray. So he mangled a couple of cats in his day? Haven't we all done things in our youth that we're sorry for? And that shitzu had it coming.
We don't have an emergency back up dog since Trudy died several years ago, so both the boys are indispensable.