King had a little bit of a setback last night. He seemed fine during the day, and actually ate more than he had in weeks, including Mickey's leftovers from the previous day. But at some point during the night, he became very uncomfortable--he drank water several times, ate Mickey's leftovers from the day's dinner, and paced paced paced. Needed to go outside several times--130am, 3am, and iirc about 430am. Since he's been almost exclusively leash-only since he got sick--to keep him from eating dirt/mulch--that meant that I needed to go out with him. When he slept, it was only for a half-hour or so at a time, and usually beside my bed.

I phoned the vet first thing. King is back on Carafate, which coats his stomach. Vet and I will discuss matters during his follow-up visit on Saturday.

Saw the vet today. King's bloodwork came back golden, which means the ulcer wasn't bleeding. A good thing. The possible bad news is that he may tend toward ulcers for the rest of his life. Mickey, who has a history of elevated liver enzymes, will need to take a supplement for the rest of his doggy life. So two dogs, two chronic health issues. Hello Monday--pass the ketchup.

"King doesn't like change," the vet told me. I never thought this would happen.

Is there a pony in this anywhere? Maybe it's that the spur that drives one forward can sometimes take a form one doesn't expect.

Something needs to change. That is all.

From 6am on, one dog would appear by my bedside, then the other. They wanted to go out, then they came in. Then they just wanted to stand around and watch me.

So I gave in around 715a--it's a beautiful autumn day and I have much to do. Did last night's dishes. Made coffee. Sat down at computer to check out the blogs and such.

The boyz? They're asleep, one in my office and one in the living room. Dogmom is up and about, so their job is done.

Reminder To Self: never wear the nice white shirt the day after you dye your hair an Interesting Color. Especially when you use the stuff that washes out over time.

King was a complete PITA last night. He dozed for most of the evening, but as soon as the lights went out, he realized that he wasn't tired, and if he wasn't tired, no one could be tired either. It's after 1am, I'm having a hard time falling asleep anyway, and all I can hear is the soft jingle of dog tags as King wanders through the house, with occasional breaks to stop by my room and stand in the doorway and stare his "you aren't tired, are you?" stare.

I let him outside. Let him back inside. He'd lie down for a few moments, then start to pace again. jinglejinglejingle.

Then I heard a hard crunch, and stumbled out to the living room in time to see King slouch away from the photo bucket. The photo bucket is an old wooden bucket with a padded lid that we always used to store, well, photos. I checked it out, and found that King had chewed the spot where the handle attached to the side, leaving some very nice marks in place.

I yelled. He settled down...for a few minutes. The more jinglejinglejingle. Stop by the room. "You tired?"

At 230am, I cracked and put him outside. Lest I be charged with cruelty to Kings,let me add that this is a dog who used to lie on the lawn in the rain and chew bones. A descendant of herders and hunters. A Real Dog (tm), IOW, until a life of soft cushions beckoned. A former outdoorsman.

I was awakened by barking at about 530am. Opened the door, and King bounded in like he'd been shot out of a cannon. Grabbed his heaviest bone, and played a little "Can I drop this on your foot?" before settling down to nap. Because he was tired, dammit.

I got back in bed and tried to grab a few more lovely minutes. Heard a sniffle and a rustle, which meant that it was Mickey's turn to get into the act. I let *him* out, but before I let him back in, I moved his bed out to the living room because it's the size of a small country and I can't reach my closet unless I move it. Then I let Mickey back in, at which point he starts wandering around and standing by my bed because I moved his bed too soon, dammit, and he still had some sleeping to do.

I got up. Made coffee. Mickey is sound asleep on the office cushion. King is sleeping the sleep of the just in the living room. I'm getting a massage tonight, and will likely fall asleep on the table.

Welp, I'll be taking King to the vet tomorrow. I noticed some spots of dried blood on the floor after the Guyz' post-dinner "Oh look-a rabbit" run. At first I thought that Mickey had licked a pad raw again, but I checked his feet and they were fine. Then I checked King, and found that he had torn the hell out of a left rear nail, to the point that I ain't touching it. I cleaned it. Tried to bandage it, but after an hour or so of restlessness, King pulled it off, eating the gauze in the bargain.

He's resting now. The thing's stopped bleeding, for now. I am hoping he leaves it alone until I can get him in to see the doc.

Not a crisis like cmpriest's Spainy-Cat (glad she'll be OK!). But messy, and probably uncomfortable for King. Not great for me, either. I'd like a week with no Dog Problem. Just a week.

Rule the First: that the documents that really, really need to be completed by Friday are the ones that will become hopelessly corrupted, crash Word each time you try to open them, and so thoroughly fuck up the works that even if a co-worker sends you a newer version, that will crash Word as well. Something about the formatting, apparently. The entire Office Suite was uninstalled/reinstalled, to no avail. Fingers crossed that Desktop Support will make it all better on the morrow.

Rule the Second: that if one bandages a puppy's allergy-chewed paw for two weeks running, said puppy will make do by chewing up another paw.

There is no Rule the Third. We will save that for another time, when we've nothing better to do.

Of course, as soon as I committed to getting the GIDEON proposal to Madame Agent in two weeks, it absolutely hit the fan at the day job...