Thursday 22 September 2011

She's not there

Dusty still at the vet's. More investigations. Fluid all around her chest, compressing her right lung to the extent that it didn't show up on the X-ray yesterday. My brave girl. I go to see her and she gamely bounds towards me, doing her little half-jumps of glee. With one lung and a murmuring heart, all puffy-chested and wheezy. I administer her first dose of apricot kernels, but now she's staying in an extra night, she'll miss tomorrow morning's dose. Now scanned, steroid-injected, heart-medicated, resting.

Each time I  go to get up from my chair, I check to see Dusty's not under it before I push it backwards. Each time I go out, I anticipate the patter of Dusty's paws on the wooden floor as she comes over to the door. And I keep nearly treading in her water bowl.

Come on, miracle cure.

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