We woke up this morning with the little man having issues getting around. I think he tweaked his back at some point during the night. He woke us up at 3:23 a.m. barking for us to put him on the bed. Because it was a ridiculous hour of the morning, we told him to be quiet and we went back to sleep. At 6 a.m., when he barked at me again, I just got up and put him on the bed.
But he didn't want to move around, or walk down the stairs, or walk anywhere for that matter. I carried him downstairs, and settled him on the cushion while I prepared one of Daisy's pain pills in some string cheese for him. He was happy to have the string cheese, and to have me hand-feed him his breakfast. He chilled for the morning while Sydney and I visited the dinosaur museum.
By the time we got home, he was moving around a bit better, and even made it halfway up the stairs before I saw him and picked him up. He got another pill tonight so he could sleep comfortably, but he seems to be in much better shape than this morning. He's jumped off the sofa (I won't let him try to jump up), and has gone down and back up the stairs tonight (he had to investigate what Brian was doing in the kitchen).
I hate, hate, hate worrying about Oliver. I simply can not have that dog not feeling 100 percent. It chills and terrifies me. But he's feeling better, so that's good for my head, heart and psyche.
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