The Poor Blackpuppy, and Jack Helps at the Vet.

So, yeah, there are lots of things going on in our lives right now. But our adventures today were with poor Homer. We drove down to Greenville this weekend for our nephew Kyler's birthday. (We've managed to miss it the past four years or so.) While we were there Homer did something to his paw. One minute he was fine, the next he was limping around and not putting any weight on it--a rather pathetic sight. Yesterday morning we awoke to see that the paw was really swollen and he was even more pathetic. When we got home last night, it took me at least fifteen minutes to get him out of the car because he was afraid to jump out.

**Interlude--we walked into the house to find a dying sump pump. Nice.**

We made him a vet appointment for this afternoon, and Jack and I took him. They are usually rather prompt, but today we had to sit in the examination room for 45 minutes. Yup. Trapped in a closet with a gimpy dog, who fell asleep, and a napless stinky toddler--who pooped five minutes after we got there. We ended up leaving Homer there for awhile. Partly because I had to get home to meet the plumber, and partly because I couldn't imagine being there another hour with Jack while they took X-rays and performed tests.

In the end, they were still not sure what was wrong. There were no broken bones and they couldn't find any wounds or sores from Homer chewing his foot. The vet suspects there may be a small puncture wound. Now, we have to do the easy job of limiting his activities for two weeks and keep him from chewing on it. (And pills. Lots of pills.) I really hope I don't have to go get a lampshade. We will see how long I am a nice daddy. I slept on the couch last night so he didn't have to walk up and down the stairs. I'm not sure if I can do that for two weeks.

And where does Jack fit into all this? His solution, yesterday, was to kiss Homer's foot and put a Diego Band-Aid on it. We convinced him that Homer really did not want that. When we went back to the vet to pick up Homer, Jack informed me that he had to "Help Daddy." I thought he meant by going with me, but I was wrong. When we went back to the exam room to get our instructions, Jack pushes a chair up to the exam table and climbs up. He looked at me very seriously and said, "I have to help you, Daddy." The Vet assistant walked in and started to hand me the various papers, but Jack took them and started looking them over. Here is an excerpt of how the conversation went from that point.

VA: Here is Homer's medication.
Jack: Those Homer's Bitamins?
VA.: Okay, give Homer two of these every morning.
Me: With food?
VA: If it helps.
Jack (points to the paper with a serious look and serious voice): These ABCs?
VA: And two of these and one of these at night.
Jack: Here more ABCs.
VA: Limit his activity...
Jack (Points to receipt): We need fifty dowars.
VA: Soak his foot every night in warm soapy water...
Jack: Homer dirty? He need bath.

Unfortunately, I missed all of his comments, since I was trying to pay attention to what to do to Homer. The vet asst. was trying very hard not to crack up and be serious, but how could she?