Last night, our weenie dog Dottie crashed and burned going down the stairs.
Had she waited five seconds, I would have had her in my arms to carry her down the stairs as we always do, but no, Dad was taking too long.
Hit the landing and started crying. Picked up the shattered remains and she didn't want to be touched and tried to bite me.
Nevertheless we manhandled her, got a compression bandage and a splint on her right front leg, and prepared to have a long night with her before we could get her to the vet in the morning.
That meant, of course, Dad sleeping on the couch with her in his lap because that's what you do. Dressed in your plaid shirt and jeans, belt and all.
She slept peacefully.
At 4 am, I took the dogs outside to use the potty. The bandage and splint came off during the night - it's ridiculously hard to bandage and splint a wiry weenie dog.
She's a little gimpy - slightly more gimpy than usual - but doesn't seem to be seriously hurt, even after a thorough poking of both front legs by our daughter at about 7:30 am.
Napping now because that's what she does every morning.
I may need a nap myself. That took a lot out of me.
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