Last night Jerry Lee was very clingy. He kept resting his head on my knee. He followed me everywhere, which isn't unusual, but when I got where I was going, he had to have physical contact. That is unusual.
I suspected something might be up.
This morning he threw up. Oh dear.
The doctor had requested I cut his Prednisone in half. I think I'll go back to the original dosage.
However, I just have a sinking feeling the end is near.
Bob's hoping it's just an isolated incident. Me too.
Yesterday Thomas was discussing Jerry Lee and hopeful he'd live to see the puppy. I explained that if he wasn't hurting and he was comfortable that was a possibility, but in reality, it probably wouldn't happen.
Gees, this just stinks.
Regarding the new puppy, the breeder asked us for names that begin with P. We sent her a list of our choices. Patsy was my first choice, as my dad's first German Shepherd was named Patsy.
We had decided on a name for a male: Charlie, after my dad. My dad got a kick out of that. However, we're on the list for a female so that probably won't happen. I'm hoping the breeder will choose Patsy. If not, that's fine, too, because we wouldn't call her by her AKC name. Sadie is topping our list. This week.
A very good friend sent me an email. She said it doesn't matter what my choice is for coloring, because the dog we get is choosing us. Meaning, in her new-age style, that we will get the dog that needs to be with us. Her exact wording was, "Me thinks the dog has chosen you." I get that. It made me feel a little better, a little more accepting of an all-black German Shepherd.
I just wish that Jerry weren't sick, though. This watching him die business is SO hard. We got that diagnosis October 1, yet he was sick a few weeks before that. He has lived longer than the vet thought he would.
Sigh....back to school now.