Prince is sick. Life-threateningly sick.
He’s been sick and out-of-sorts for the last month and a half, and the vet(s) aren’t sure yet what it is. He seems to have something like a pancreatitis or gastro-enteritis; no one is yet sure what’s going on.
There was a point about a week ago when he was lying forlornly in the hallway with his anti-lick cone on and he was just … dull-eyed, listless, and unresponsive. This is the same thing I’ve seen before in dogs who were near death. And it threw a scare in me, right down to my toes.
Cleaning up stinky dog puke and diarrhea becomes secondary at this point; something’s really wrong with my Sheltie best-buddy.
I was ready to take him in the next morning if he didn’t improve, but fortunately that evening he did. The next morning he was his old famished self when it was time for his breakfast. He even came and sat next to me on the steps just like old times and got hugs and pets while I put on my socks and shoes for work.
That’s the best he’s been for four days.
The intervening time has been one of vet visits, intense prayer, and tears at the throne of God.
We are all transitory beings.
My consciousness slams with full force against the granite-hardness of that reality and I find that my emotions surface with the uncontrollable hot tears and wracking sobs of impending loss.
He may yet recover; he’s a strong guy. But more than ever, it’s in God’s hands. It always was. I look for strength, not only for me, but for Prince to fight it and win.