Yesterday morning my old man dog stood up to go outside and shout at the melting snow. Unfortunately his back legs didn't come to the party. He made it out the front door only to fall flat on his tuchus.
CK and I spent the day observing him, looking for any little sign that would give hope. For hours there was nothing. His back legs were simply unable to bear weight and kept going out from under him.
We continued to watch. Silently. Both of us thinking the same thing but neither prepared to say it. Our victories were small. Standing for a second before collapsing. Managing to stagger across the room to CK rather than dragging himself using only his forelegs.
By teatime he was lying on the floor to eat. We continued sharing a look but saying nothing.
However Christmas miracles do occur and come bedtime he was standing, albeit gingerly. He spent the night upstairs in our room, curled up next to the heater. It obviously was a magic heater as the next morning he was able to walk downstairs with no more than the normal amount of assistance.
CK even took him out for a short walk yesterday afternoon.
I took him to the vet this morning and she confirmed that he has had another brain blowout. As she examined him she reminded me that it is all about quality of life and that for now my Old Man Dog has a great one.
For now this has to be enough.
My heart remains sore because I think we are on a path of diminishing returns and heartbreak won't be far off.