August | 2017 | Michael S. Moore

Given the Week that Was on the White House/Deface the Lake sick puppy front it definitely seems for the good of all that the Chump should be Dumped before he runs out of buses to throw what remains of his entourage under, and soon.

Meanwhile Thursday here in the early morning mountains Aggie was so low and listless I stayed home while Linda and her Tooth went to Pueblo. I was waiting on a house call from our

neighboring vet which did not turn out to be reassuring as we have here a seriously sick puppy, causation [without immediate blood work] unknown. Said sick pup went under the porch afterwards, oddly content to gaze down the meadow until lured out for a walk she was happy to begin but barely able to finish, then continued to diminish until by the time L. came home

[with the unhappy news that the Tooth, wildly infected, is in need of Extraction] she could only barely walk. After a quick lunch we headed back to Pueblo for the blood work which

indicated extreme dehydration, causation unknown. Being unwilling to leave her

alone on an IV in some cage overnight they hydrated subcutaneously and sent us all out

into the five o’clock rush hour, pounding down the freeway to reach Libre a bit after six.

The Girl, still near the Death Store, returned to looking down the meadow as if she’d never see it again while we finished up a latish dinner and a worried night ensued for all.

Come morning our friend, weak with no eat, no drink, gazed placidly around the bedroom in a manner reminiscent of Specky’s last day, taking everything in as if to fix it in her mind one last time. Then late afternoon she ventured out among the sunflowers, initiating a slow recovery.

Saturday morning she was well enough to take a little sustenance, slowly returning to normalcy while half of Libre, despite warnings of extreme congestion, headed up the freeway for the expected Totality [the absence of fuel further upstream had not as yet become apparent].