Admittedly, we're having fewer and fewer good days. In the past week, sometimes I look at the poor baby and think, "Today is the day" or close enough.
But then I pick up a tennis ball this morning and his eyes light up and focus intensely, body tenses in preparation for flight, and tail waps waps waps against the wall. I swear to God, the limp magically disappears when his adrenaline is rushing. For ten minutes, he was back to his old self, naughty ears perked up, pouncing on the ball as if it was a mouse and he, a kitty. And then he proceeds to taunt the fetch-obsessed Comet with "haha, I have the ball and you don't, so chase me"... and Comet proceeds to give chase. The neighbors probably think I'm a little too amused by this seemingly normal display of dog-roughhousing, as I laugh out loud and applaud this game of grab-ass, out in the snowy backyard. (Unfortunately, it always ends with Comet... uh... asserting his dominance.)
I was asking the vets about limiting his movement, as fractures are a real concern with this disease. If he gets one, it's all over, since the bone can't heal anymore.
I loved the vets' response though: "Just let him have his last hurrah, for cryin' out loud." I agree!
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