Three dogs, eleven legs, and one sick cat.

3 legged dog is not available for viewing.

While I was having a weekend, if by weekend you mean I was at work then I painted the new chunk of my house, all these people were in the AKC Nationals, the big festival for AKC agility people. Lots of people I know were becoming super champions. They were in some far off land, of North Carolina, I believe? Holy smokes, that is a far off land. They drove their motorhomes and flew their dogs in planes and off they went to win great big prizes like new Frigidaire refrigerators and Samsonite luggage sets and coupons for lifetime supplies of pancakes from IHOP's. That what you won you guys?

Something like that?

My weekend had it's own bling and sparkle and fun. If by fun, you like playing Pet Nurse to the small animals. Sort of like becoming a giant agility champion, except actually, nothing like that. Pet Nurse, has to figure out why outside-sorta-feral cat all of a sudden drops all it's weight, wants to either lay in ball in direct line of dog-chasing fire or come frantically running into the house to leap onto desk and meow like Satan has it's tail. Something wrong with that poor cat big time and going to have to go to the vet. Just saw it on the roof screaming at invisible monkeys, has got to be some kind of crazy sick.

And poor sweet Ruby went from ok-not-hinky to 3-legged hopper in no time flat. Been off and on doing random painscreams, then being sound enough to do a little bit of agility or run on beach, then next day not then next day yes. You saw her just yesterday, demonstrating style points as part of driveway pole fiesta. But Saturday night painscreams herself out of the blue and disappears in quivering mass of weepy under the bed, not to be seen until the next day when she only walks on 3 legs. The leg that can't touch down the right front, which is her old bad leg, not the more recent new bad leg, which was left front. So what is new is old, yet once was new.

Sort of like '80's jeans.

I am a bad dog owner. I just compared my dog to acid washed jeans with zippers in the legs.

But at least I didn't compare her to poufy hair with mile high bangs and stacks of black rubber skinny bracelets and lace bottom leggings. I would never do that.

I also didn't rush her to the emergency vet but instead shoved some rimadyl down her gullet and let her huddle like a miserable pile of sad all night. See how it goes the next day. And the next. Augh. Always the animals get sick when you do something like buy a giant glass sliding door and have to pay someone to cut a huge hole in your rotting wall and just stick it in there. Last time we really tried to figure out what EXACTLY pains Ruby, MRI's and UC Davis and such were mentioned. And I just put her on a leash and give her nice kidney busting anti inflammatory chewy treats.

I think today, we actually go visit a real doctor, instead of someone who just plays Pet Nurse on the internet.