thank you . . . and

Now it's the dog. Daddy's okay. Heart rate dropped to 24 before surgery. Seems to have had a little bit of a setback with the dementia, but hoping, hoping it's just the stress and being away from home. Sleeping in a chair sucks. My papa is a trickster, having sent me away at 3 a.m. to get a blanket "because my arms are cold." After I covered him up, I managed to briefly close my eyes before startling awake to the scriiiiiiiiiitch of velcro fasteners being undone. He only wanted a blanket to cover his efforts to undo the brace holding his arm down. An 89 year old bad boy, my sweet daddy.

But the dog? Does it ever end? I get back to find the dog ~ little Bill ~ scrawny and vomiting everywhere, bloody poop. We're at the doggy ER most of the night, now back to the regular vet at 8:00 a.m.

But I meant to say thank you for your kindness and your prayers, so much appreciated. Now . . . well, the little dog is right up there among the top loves of my life. Here we go to the vet.