. . . . out of respect for the one third of early respondents who have advised me to ditch the fish, I have moved my scaly little friends to the bottom of the page. For those of you who enjoy their antics and their appetites, scroll down. For the rest of you, enjoy the newfound serenity of life sans poissons.
Here, for your edification, are the X-rays of dear Paisley's leg. There is, apparently, no new break (since his Monday siezure) but there is, of course, a great deal of abnormality caused by years of living with a shortened ulna. His pronounced lameness, the vet says, may temporarily improve. Unlike me, Fenway Bartholomule, poor cloud dog can't expect much in the way of a full recovery. Not having the $$$$ for surgery to fuse the joint, we are working on making some sort of rigid splint to support the limb and prevent further degeneration. That is, the humans (with their space-age material inventions and their opposable thumbs) are working on making a splint; I am working on giving cloud dog brayful looks of support and encouragement every time he totters into the yard to relieve himself. As always, he fears me (me?!) and keeps his distance. Ears to you, Fenway
Non,non, il faut que les poissons sont immedientment ici!
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