with a side order of shit on a shingle.

Ebony came up lame this morning.



There she is, in happier times.  When the animal onslaught came an hour or so ago, it wasn't accompanied by the wet puppy kiss that comes from our youngest coming in.

She's in a corner of the bedroom, not getting up for nuthin. She's not whimpering, and mostly is resting, but you can tell by her face that something is off. Way off.

So I will be spending the morning with Harry, as planned. It'll just be Harry Newman, DVM, rather than Harry Potter, OOM.

We ADORE this dog, and the feeling is mutual. Emily, especially, will be devestated if it's anything.

Pray. Offer karma. Hell, give a cat a cheezbrgr if it'll get them on board.

Supplemental. It's now almost 8, and she seems fine. She got up on her own, went outside like she always does before feeding time, came in the kitchen looking for om nom noms, and I fully expect to see a rope toy in her yap within the next few minutes. We'll still take her in- she's due for her annual anyway- but oy gevalt.

It makes sense in a way. She's half shar pei, so it figures that an hour later she'd be hungry at last.