Late Thursday afternoon, I went to a local animal hospital to pick up Riley. He’d been there since the previous afternoon so one of the doctors there could diagnose, treat and provide a recommendation about his condition.
It turned out a bit better than expected as the pooch ate a bit before I stopped by to take him home.
I’d made up my mind prior to knowing it that Riley would at least come home for the night and spend a little more time resting comfortably at my side. When we arrived home, I made up a big batch of hamburgers, chicken breast and jasmine rice. He ate to his appetite’s content, which surprised me.
He rested through the night, not always comfortably, but it was comforting to me. There’s still a small chance, the doctor said, that Riley could rebound to eat and live a less active but enjoyable life. Less than 50 percent, but a chance. A reason for optimism. But really I’m just monitoring it as best I can as the moments pass.
One small hopeful sign: This morning he ate again, and wanted to go with me. Instead of coming to work, I walked him around the block, very slowly. Perhaps it was a quarter mile. But it was 10 minutes of happy time. A nice moment reminiscent of all those early mornings we headed out on the run together over the years.