Super Tuesday/SEC Primaries Familial Panic

Younger Daughter called me shortly before lunchtime today and said, "Mommy!" (When daughters regress to "Mommy" I know that something not good will follow.)

She continued, "I'm sooooo stressed out!!!" (That didn't bode well, either.)

I asked, haltingly, "What's the matter?!?"

"There is no one I can vote for!!! And too many to vote against!!! I don't know what to do!!!"

Today is the Arkansas Primary Election Cha-cha-cha. Pepper and I did the early voting thing this year, so we're well beyond second and third guessing (until the results start trickling in tonight.) But Younger Daughter put it off until the actual day, leaving her all stressed out!!!

So, what's a Mommy to say? YD ultimately decided to hold her nose, throw up a little bit in her mouth, and vote the way her Daddy and I did. And our choice among the candidates didn't rhyme with rump, or much of anything else.

Heaven help us all; and, hooray for the red, white, and blue. Hopefully not too black-and-blue.

The Birth of an Endless Nightmare

Ten years ago today, a pitiful little storm struggled to life over the Bahamas, the 11th named storm of the 2005 Atlantic hurricane season -- she would be named Katrina the next day.

She would also alter the course of history.

This is a well-done recollection of days leading up to -- and years following -- the storm by Bill Capo, a reporter at WWL-TV, the CBS affiliate in New Orleans. I commend it to you.

Now, please excuse me -- the heebie jeebies are crawling up the back of my neck.

Katrina, Plus 10 Years, Minus 12 Days

Today is August 17th. According to the National Hurricane Center:

"Environmental conditions appear conducive for development over the next severaldays, and a tropical depression will likely form by the middle of
the week while the system moves westward or west-northwestward near
15 mph.
* Formation chance through 48 hours...medium...50 percent
* Formation chance through 5 days...high...70 percent "

That's a pretty darn good chance.

In 2005, on August 23rd, Hurricane Katrina slogged to life near the Bahamas. The rest is history.

I fervently pray that this particular history never repeats itself.

Late August still makes me anxious.

Have the Top Brass Taken Leave of Their Senses?!?

I don't know whether there is any truth to  the allegations floating around in cyberspace that a Navy officer and a Marine fired their weapons at the Muslim miscreant who shot up two recruiting stations in Chattanooga on July 16, killing five service members and wounding others. Further speculation suggests that the military members who returned fire are to be charged with illegally discharging a firearm on federal property.

If charges are indeed filed, prepare to witness a Moogie in all her righteous wrath. The re-shaping of our mighty military, and not for the better, has apparently ramped up on steroids.

Pepper says if charges like that were leveled against him, he would demand a court martial. And I suspect the air in that chamber would turn such a vibrant shade of blue that it could be seen miles away.

The SecDef needs to get his head out of his nether regions and stand up to the Administration, especially about policies that jeopardize the safety of our military and their families. Maybe the new Chief of the Army will hold some sway -- if he doesn't get mesmerized first.

Bad, bad times are afoot.

Family Growth, Drama, and Life in these Somewhat Turbulent United States.

It's been the busiest of times in a Moogie's World lately!

My bestest Mother's Day gift arrived early --  Meet Clayton Patrick ("Clay"), Grandbaby #6, born April 12th at 7 lbs 14 oz, and 21" long!

He not only arrived a little early, he also gave us quite a scare.

His Mama is Rh Negative, and he's Rh Positive. You may recall that Elder Daughter had a problem after the birth of her first son and it ultimately took two DNCs, a month and a half apart, to give her the relief she needed. This time around, even though she had undergone massive RhoGam therapy, and delivered by Cesarean section to avoid the retained placenta issue, the problems with blood landed in Baby Clay instead of ED.

He was "Coombs Direct positive," and, at the advanced age of 1 day, he was diagnosed with anemia, Hemolytic Disease, RH Autoimmunization, and Hyperbilirubinemia. Essentially, his little red blood cells were being destroyed by his own immune system, and his little liver was having trouble disposing of them. After a consult with a Neonatologist he was whisked away to the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit), before the eyes of his terrified big brother and bawling mother, where he was expected to remain from 7 - 10 days. They immediately began phototherapy (imagine all the lights on an airport runway being crammed into a plexiglass incubator), Gammaglobulin to block the antibodies, and lots of IV and oral fluids to flush out the compromised red blood cells.  After her discharge, either SiL#1 or I drove ED to the hospital every four hours so she could feed the baby. Every little bit of fluid mattered.

And, by golly, he showed them!  The little guy improved so dramatically and consistently that he was moved to the step-down NICU in two days and discharged in three more! Elder Daughter had a much happier Mother's Day than we feared a month ago.

The dogs are doing well, even though Moogie's Manor has been invaded by active grandchildren on a regular basis. Sometimes Yap's littermates come for a visit, too, and they play so hard and so long that they wear themselves out. That's not necessarily a bad thing.

I love this pic of Bouie. It looks like he has a handlebar milk mustache, but that's really just his dignified graying snout.

I'm trying something different this spring-- a raised veggie and herb garden in the side yard:

So far, so good!

And, it's time for popsicles! Here are Numbers Four and Five on the day Baby Clay came home from the hospital. Younger Daughter thought ahead -- she lured them outside to eat their Popsicles and took off their shirts. Clever Younger Daughter.

Number Three performed in her Dance Recital last night -- "Ye Olde Toy Shoppe." She danced the roles of "Rainbow Looms" (I'm a little behind -- what is a Rainbow Loom?) and "American Girl Dolls." DiL says that #3 has a love-hate relationship with dance. Heh. She definitely has sass!

Number Two will celebrate his 9th birthday on Saturday!! Nine?!?! Seriously?!?!

Oh well, there are tulips and an orchid in the kitchen and life is good at Moogie's Manor, despite the fact that the Little Rock Police Department is investing in riot gear for every officer. Do you suppose they know something that we don't?

Seriously, do you suppose they know something that we don't?

Merry December 2014, and Happy 2015!

I love this time of year -- especially when things are going well and our loved ones are healthy and happy. And, praise be, that is the case again this year. No heart surgery for Pepper this year; no gut surgery for me! Plus, we have our Miracle Mysti who is back to her old sassy self:

And we still have one of the Litter -- now known as Bouie Junior by his new family -- among the living.  He has developed a habit of digging in the backyard, and had the misfortune of disturbing a sleepy Copperhead while engaging in that craft. This is what he looked like on December 23rd:

Doesn't that just break your heart?!?!  Fortunately, his new family knew him well enough to know he was in trouble and got him to the Emergency Vet (cha-ching!!) in the middle of the night where he received the lifesaving medical attention he needed. Here he was yesterday:

Much better! His eyesight doesn't appear to be impaired either, so he's the most recent Christmas Canine Miracle. I can't decide whether he favors Mysti more, or Bouie, but he's a handsome lad indeed.

Yes, the tree still stays up until Epiphany -- January 6, so I am still permitted to send out wishes for a Merry Christmas!  January 6th also happens to be the kick-off of the Carnival Season, so Moogie's Manor needn't go without excessive decor for even a moment! This was on Christmas Eve before the grands arrived and pandemonium ensued. Daughters thought that building gingerbread houses might be a good way to entertain the young ones (read "distract" them!) until time to demolish the wrapping paper:

I think they did pretty well! (And the distraction worked! For awhile.)

Although he was one of our best gifts of all times, Bouie was pretty wiped out on Christmas Day:

A week before the Christmas revelry, we celebrated Pepper's birthday at the Manor with a Family Dessert (spelled, "Moogie didn't have to prepare and clean up after an entire meal.") How cool, and yummy, is an Apple-Pie-Baked-Into-A-Chocolate Birthday Cake?!?! (I did bake the cake!  Recipe available on The Food Network.)

Dang that was tasty!

Included in the season's gatherings were the three yellow sisters from the litter. That's our Yap on the left, little Chelsea in the middle, and Persi (short for Persephone) on the right:

Here are a few more dog pics because, these days, I smile every time I look at our pups (as long as one of them isn't shredding something or tracking in muddy prints). And, I still marvel at Mysti's and Bouie's stamina and ability to heal from the most dire of mishaps. (P.S. -- Yap now has veterinary insurance!):

Daddy and Daughter

Mama and Daughter

 Playtime!

Can you believe how she's grown? Nearly 5 months.

These make our family complete.

So, we're still enjoying Christmas decor:

We're enjoying the decor, except for one item. Pepper received a gift that now graces the windowsill of the Water Closet in our bathroom. That's the perfect place to display it because seeing that smug, Imperial face leering down at you just scares the s**t out of you.

Who needs laxatives?!?!

Sorry. Couldn't resist.

Happy New Year!!

Hopefully the Curtain has Fallen on More Scary Doggie Drama

Well. I have just lived through two weeks that will surely be noted in Moogie's Biography as among the worst of my life. But -- they could have been considerably worse.

We did get to bring Mysti home Wednesday before last with potent antibiotics and special food. She ate some and drank water and just enjoyed being with us that afternoon and evening. I even did a most-of-the-family portrait:

Pepper went to bed fairly early, but when my adrenaline gets rushed, I don't sleep well. So, after reading a bit, I probably dropped off about 1:00 Thursday morning. Thursday would turn out to be a verrrrry long day.

A little before 4:00, I heard Mysti panting in the crate. When she kept it up for awhile I got up to see what was going on and to offer  her some water. The vet had told us that if her temperature spiked -- anything above 102.5 -- she could be in trouble. She refused the water and was clearly agitated. I managed to find a thermometer (now strictly dedicated to canine temperature readings, if you know what I mean), and managed to get a reading. 102.7. Crap.

She paced around a bit and, every now and then, would stretch her neck up as if in a spasm. I took her temp again about thirty minutes later -- 103.2. Double crap. I awakened Pepper, telling him that Mysti was in trouble.

Bouie was upset -- he's very sensitive and knew something was not right.

At 5:00 we called the vet. After we described what was going on, he told us to make her as comfortable as possible and to meet him at his office at 7:30. So Mysti lay on the floor at the foot of the bed with one of us lying beside her on either side. She was in such obvious pain that we both feared she would die right there in our arms. We spoke softly to her, petting her and telling her what a good girl she is and how very pretty. That was a long, difficult two hours. I checked her temp again about 7:00 and it had dropped back below 103. Good news, but it didn't last.

We headed to the vet's at about 7:20 in all the rush hour traffic. That's not harrowing at all. Mysti could barely get in and out of the truck.

The vet took her temp first thing -- 103.7. He said that's high but not dangerously high. Then he explained our options, leaving the most permanent one unspoken.  He could open her up again and see what was going on, but he was a little leery of the location of the bad part of the intestine -- very near the pancreas. The other option was for him to call veterinary surgery specialists in Memphis and we could take her over there as an emergency patient. Then he told us that, if she were his dog, he'd have her in the car on I-40 eastbound, pdq.  So, that's what we did. We headed home to throw a few things in a bag in case we had to stay the night and called our dogsitter friend on the way to the house -- we couldn't leave the pup crated all that time without a break. Fortunately, Carolyn had been following Mysti's saga on Facebook and said she'd be here as soon as possible.  Here we are on the way to Memphis:

Actually, no. That's on the way home the first time Wednesday afternoon. We had put pillows in the back for her before going to Memphis.

It seemed like it took forever to get there, and once we did, we got onto the interstate loop at the wrong on-ramp and had to circle the whole freakin' city amid some seriously crazy and flawed drivers. Added about 30 minutes to the trip. No additional stress there.

We arrived at the Memphis Veterinary Specialists a little after noon. Wow. What a ritzy place! All new and clean and well-designed. We met with the regular vet in one of several "Consultation Rooms," and she explained what they would do -- and the price range, depending on what they found during the exploratory. And, no, you really don't want to know. We paid our deposit, left our little girl in the hands of strangers in a strange place, and wandered off in search of something to eat, anticipating a call from the surgeon when they took Mysti back.

The vet had recommended Las Tortugas, a small, authentic Mexican place nearby in Germantown. Good recommendation. After lunch, we took a walk around a small lake on a nice paved path. That was just what we needed. Then we needed a nap, so I had a chat with Mr. Google and found a hotel near the hospital where there were a lot of Hispanics tearing up the parking lot with jackhammers. I napped really hard and quickly anyway.

Pepper woke up before I did and went out to the truck to charge his phone, so he was gone when I awoke, making me a little nervous. But, when he came back in, he had talked to the surgeon and Mysti had done beautifully!  There was a tear leaking fluid into her abdomen, so he did a resection of her intestine and there were no complications, her bloodwork showed no organ failure, and she was resting comfortably with no suggestion of peritonitis! We could visit her Friday morning, but they wanted to keep her until Sunday so they could culture the liquid they removed from her abdomen and keep her on IV antibiotics and pain meds. The vet would call in the morning with an overnight report.

Thank you, Lord!

But then the next crisis hit -- the Saints were playing the Panthers at 7:30 Thursday evening and the hotel didn't offer NFL Network!!

I found a sports bar.  And a liquor store. We went to both.

The Saints won!

We went to visit Mysti Girl shortly after the vet called on Friday morning, and were seated in the "Visitation Room." They put a tee shirt on her so she couldn't mess with the staples. It said "We be Jammin', Mon," so we decided that she was going as a Rasta for Halloween:

Our girl was what the vet described as "dysphoric." We called it "loopy." She was happy to see us, but whined and "sang" for us. I felt really mean leaving her there -- she really wanted to go home. But, it was Halloween and I was expecting a houseful of family and friends that evening.

We made it back to Moogie's Manor in time to make the chicken chili and get things cleaned up. I took Yap to the vet for her next round of puppy shots. Trick or Treaters came and went. Here are Elder Daughter and her sweet family as "Jack and the Beanstalk" characters (the "Golden Egg" painted on ED's shirt was the Halloween costume for Grandbaby #6 who is growing in there!):

And Younger Daughter with hers as the Rubble Family from "The Flintstones":

The Son had Guard drill.

As I was cleaning up, I noticed several twinges in my back and gut, and realized that I hadn't eaten anything. By Saturday morning, I was in a full-blown flare-up of diverticulitis. Stress tends to settle in my gut and I think it's taking an extended vacation in there. I can eat now, but can't throw off the nagging little low-grade fever. I hate diverticulitis drugs, but I guess I'll have to suck it up and call the doc on Monday. Bouie and Yap were missing their Mysti on Saturday night, so they needed a little extra attention from Pepper:

The vet called Sunday morning about 10:00 and Pep was on the road by 10:45. Mysti and her tee shirt came tail-waggingly into the house Sunday afternoon! Along with her own personal pharmacy. Our days have revolved around her med schedule for a week! but I gave her the last dose yesterday evening and all she has left are pain pills. I'm still giving her a reduced dose of that at night.


She still must take it really easy for another week, then keep being wild and crazy at a minimum for a month, but she looks good, she's happy and playful, her appetite is back, and her coat looks good and shiny. I think we have our girl back. And everyone is happy about that (we changed her tee shirt because it was getting really stinky):

My gut can't take much more drama.

Central Arkansas Weather -- Not Our Friend Right Now

This is the weather map from WWL TV on the afternoon of May 8, a few moments ago.

Please keep the good people who were impacted by the April 27th tornado in your good thoughts. They don't need this.

They don't need this, especially after the Young President interrupted their recovery yesterday with his photo opp stop   en route to fund-raise in California. Talk about a traffic jam.

Sorry. I'm ambivalent about his visit -- it's probably a damned-if-you-go, damned-if-you-don't-go situation. I suppose the people of Vilonia took some comfort from his all-too-few words (in which he mentioned himself a goodly number of times, and explained to his tornado-victim audience how a tornado sounds. Seriously?) and his promise of federal aid. He didn't make stops in Mayflower or Ferndale, but talk radio says his helicopter flew over them as a windshield tour. I seem to recall George W taking some flak for doing that in Air Force 1 after Katrina.

I also might point out that this is Obama's first and only trip to Arkansas, ever. Talk about living in Presidential fly-over country.

Anyway, please keep Central Arkansas in your thoughts.

Moogie Dodges a Bullet, or a Mortar Round

The tornado warning sirens went off last night. Pepper, the dogs (after we convinced Mysti to come out from under the desk in Pepper's office), and I went downstairs to our "safe place" where we remained for a good thirty minutes as the sirens went off and back on. And off and back on. And off and back on. We're pretty sure the cell passed overhead nearby, but we were spared any damage -- we didn't even get any hail(to the relief of the newly planted plants!). The lights also stayed on -- just a couple of flickers. We lucked out.

The good people some 20 minutes from here didn't, including some of our long-time friends from the National Guard. This is near where their new house used to stand, next door to their son's home. Their new brick house. Both houses are now little more than piles of rubble.

Thank God they weren't physically injured. Many Guard friends, including us, offered them a place to stay, but they went to their daughter's. That's probably for the best. The death toll has been revised down to 14 from 16 (because two people were counted twice), but the Governor expects that number to increase.

Weather experts are speculating that the tornado will be classified as at least an EF3. Pretty powerful. It's so very hard to see all this devastation -- the poor town of Vilonia was wiped out yesterday after re-building following an EF2 that hit in 2011. The emotional toll is heavy -- even on those of us who were spared. All we can do to help right now is to donate money to relief agencies -- State Troopers and the Guard are keeping non-residents out of the hardest hit areas to prevent looting and other wrongdoing by scammers who invariably show up to capitalize on disaster. Or to gawk. Been there.

To lighten up a bit, this is a picture that Younger Daughter posted on Facebook after the all clear -- it's Grandbaby #5, and it's captioned, "Baby's first tornado. It's an Arkansas thing."

Sometimes we just need to hang onto a sense of humor. And to train our kids about storm preparation -- #5 has his flashlight and some fruit snacks.

Welcome home to Tornado Alley, Moogie and Pepper, after 14 years in Hurricaneville. I don't think I'd like to be our neighbor if given a choice -- we seem to be storm magnets.

Being "Thankful For My Family" Doesn't Begin to Describe How I'm Feeling Right About Now

 The funeral was yesterday.  My heart broke for those parents whom Fate had led to sit in front of an open casket, draped with both a folded American flag and an Arkansas Razorback flag, bearing the body of their 24 year-old son. My heart broke for his siblings.  My heart broke for the love of his life and mother of his child. For his son and extended family. For his brothers and sisters in arms. For his church family. For every parent in that room.

The slide show celebrating his life brought both tears and laughter. The three different preachers got their message of salvation across. The music was both iconic and touching, ranging from "Amazing Grace" to Kenny Chesney to Christian rap, among others. I must admit, I've never heard Christian rap before. It was interesting.

The whole service exhausted me. And it terrified me, as you will see, with good cause.

SIL#2 and Younger Daughter sat beside #2's mother in the front row.

The evening before, Wednesday evening, my precious young family was on I-30, on its way to the visitation, in stop-and-go rush hour traffic.  #2 was driving their 6 day-old Toyota Venza while YD sat in back with 10 month-old Grandbaby#5, without wearing her seatbelt so she could more easily tend to #5. (The car was their second brand-new car in less than a month, by the way, because the first one turned out to be a genuine, irreparable, dangerous lemon. This one was much better.)

SIL#2 had come to a safe stop, along with the flow of traffic, and (fortunately) within a reasonable distance from the car ahead of him, when YD saw him coming. She flung herself over the baby the split second before she felt the impact.

Daughter was slammed around the back seat; SIL#2 smacked his head on the windshield, even though he was wearing his seat belt. No air bags deployed. Thank God for a strong car seat -- a little fear was the worst that the Grandbaby suffered. The new car was, of course, rendered not drivable, but SIL managed to get it limpingly to the shoulder anyway, and without being driven into the car in front of them..

The unlicensed, non-English-speaking driver, with no insurance, who plowed into them at 50 mph in stop and go traffic told the State Trooper, before he was taken away on a stretcher to be treated at a hospital at taxpayer expense, that he had just consumed "solamente tres cervezas." (Only three beers.) And, we all know that "solamente tres cervezas" probably means several mas cervezas than tres.

Is my rage showing?

Pepper pulled into the driveway from running with Grandbaby#1 just as I was pulling out, so he hopped in the car with me and we got to the kids, during rush hour, in record time. I took #2 an ice pack. I'm not sure it helped him, but it helped me to be able to do something.

Today, the day after that sad, sad funeral, just remembering that phone call from Younger Daughter and its aftermath has opened the spigot on my teary faucet. I have sent up countless prayers thanking my good God for sheltering my family and preventing what might have been. My Facebook post thanked God and Toyota for their safety. The kids went to the ER later Wednesday evening with #2's father and his wife and checked out fine, but for the whiplash. They took a goofy photo there that showed them trussed up in neck braces, grinning and flashing thumbs up. YD texted the pic to me and Elder Daughter, captioning it as this year's Christmas card photo. I think the good drugs had kicked in by then.

They were stiff and sore yesterday, and SIL#2 still has a pretty impressive goose egg on his forehead, but they could have been so, so much more worse off. I can't imagine the panic that SIL#2's mother must have felt when she got that call from #2 explaining why they couldn't make it to the visitation.

The stress level at Moogie's Manor is running pretty high right about now, and we can't really put all of this behind us until Tuesday. We will bury that young man in the VA Cemetery on Tuesday -- the first day available for a burial. Pepper worked his contacts to smooth the process for the parents. Thirty-five years of military service pay off in the most unusual ways sometimes.

So. I need to turn my thoughts to happier places in my mind. How about more Spring flower pictures?

This is the bed in the side yard.  We put in the geraniums and croton earlier in the week. The pop of color makes us happy.

This is another view of the bed. The Son and his family gave me that Bottle Tree for Christmas. I really like it. Annnnd, I've added a couple of bottles to it since Christmas!  ;-)

I love the white azaleas beneath the Japanese maple at the top of the driveway.

This is the white dogwood and its companion Japanese maple beside the front door as seen from the dining room windows. I took this pic yesterday because gazing at this natural beauty reveling in the filtered sunlight gave me such a sense of peace.

Tell your loved ones how much they are loved. We are not promised tomorrow.

I hope this is the end of that Case of the Creeps I posted about in March. I think I'll go play in the dirt some more.

A Case of the Creeps

Something's on the horizon. I can feel it in my bones.

I don't know whether it'll be good, bad, or something in between, but it's poised out there.

Sometimes it's not pleasant to live in interesting times.

And with the leaders of the United States and Russia engaging in a childish game of "Nanny, nanny, boo-boo! You and your friends can't come play at our house!" we seem to be stuck in a bad episode of "Dennis the Menace." Seriously. Putin and Obama need to be locked in a covered playground and made to compete in a dodge-ball contest, shirtless, until one of them yells uncle. Or Dyadya, if you will. (I'm thinking it'd be uncle.)

But, something's out there. I'm feeling really anxious.

UPDATE -- Bouie's Health Scare and Other Canine Medical Crises

When I wrote the blog post about Bouie, our Christmas Miracle, that detailed his scary encounter with antifreeze and the treatment to save him, we didn't know that we hadn't yet finished our put-Little Rock-veterinarians-into-the-black Holiday Tour.

That post was written on December 22nd.  Bouie continued to improve, although he was a little weak.  I couldn't help but smile every time I looked at him.  The Christmas blizzard hit and all the dogs had a ball romping in the snow (except for Pippi who is a little princess and doesn't like to get her paws wet, much less wet and cold!).  The power outage continued and we were glad to have four dogs to cuddle up. 

Then the morning of Friday, December 28th arrived. 

I had left the family room where the fireplace is located after Pepper got up and active with the dogs. I planned to catch a little nap bundled up in the bed when I heard Pepper cussing, so I went to see what the trouble was.  He was pacing and trying to reach Vet #2 on the phone -- Bouie was droopy, obviously not feeling well.  He hadn't touched his breakfast.  He didn't seem to be as bad as on the 16th, but something was definitely wrong.

Neither of us would say it aloud, but we were both terrified that his kidneys were failing.  And once organ failure sets in . . . .

The vet didn't answer the phone.  I figured their power was out, too, so I called Younger Daughter's vet -- they had power in that neighborhood.  I explained what was going on and asked if they could see Bouie; they said to bring him right in.  I scribbled some phone numbers -- the Emergency vet's, our vet's in New Orleans, and Vet #2's -- on a scrap of paper so that Vet #3 could access Bou's records if need be, and Pepper took off, a look of defeat clouding his face.  I didn't hear from him for a couple of hours.

In the meantime, my Daddy called, telling me that he couldn't get warm and that he finally would agree to go to Younger Daughter's house.  I got dressed and headed to his house, calling Pepper en route.  Bouie had a fever, and that could be good news.  He was waiting to hear test results at YD's, but was clearly in better, if guarded, spirits.

After getting Daddy packed up, transported, and settled in at YD's with some warm Wendy's chili in his tummy, I took my first shower in days!  It's amazing what clean hair can do for the disposition.

When Vet #3 finally called, well after 5:00 p.m., she had very good news!  Bouie's organ function tests came back perfectly normal -- there was no failure!  Other bloodwork showed infection, and infection can be treated!  She was going to start him on antibiotics, but wanted to keep him overnight for observation -- test results for specific bacteria wouldn't be available until mid-week due to the New Year's holiday and weather.  (And, yes, the bloodwork was done at the Baptist Hospital lab, a place I used to think was only for people!)  We were to call Saturday morning after 8:00 and Bouie would probably be discharged!

Palpable relief!!!

We spent the night lonely for our boy, but hopeful that our veterinary saga was nearing its end.  Pepper called at the stroke of 0800, and was out the door to collect Bouie in a flash!

Meanwhile, Elder Daughter's boxer, Tyson, who had been making sounds like a whooping crane was trying to get out of his belly for several days, continued to whoop, even though we had started him on leftover antibiotics days earlier at ED's direction.  About the time Pepper was getting home with a much-improved and hungry Bouie, Vet #2 texted in response to a message I'd left about Tyson two days before.  I called the number advised by the text and got ready to take Tyson to Vet #2.

A few hours later, I brought hot coffee, Tyson, and a load of antibiotics to join the canine pharmacy  belonging to Bouie.  We enjoyed a family reunion unlike any before, and hopefully unlike any ever again.

Daddy's power came back on; ED returned home while I was re-settling Daddy.  Pepper got a hotel room and planned with SIL#1 how to take care of the dogs while we stayed warm.  I was packing to join them at the hotel when, POW!!  The lights came back on!  And stayed on!

December 29, 2012, was a very good day.

This is what Bouie looked like during his hangover on December 19th as I drove him home:

Is that a goofy, drunk dog or what!  And here are a few more happy dog pics taken after that very good day that warm my heart.  Say hello to Grandson Jack on New Year's Eve!  Hi, ho, Bouie!

Watching Dad do some stuff outside without any dogs.

Feeling better.

Mysti was very happy that Bouie was home.

Life is good in Moogie's World.

But, you don't want to know how much we spent on vet bills in a mere two weeks' time.

*sigh*