Yesterday was another birthday. Forty three. Other than some really nice well-wishes from friends and family it wasn't much fun.

Zeke woke up sometime before five, rustling around, making the sound of "gotta go pee" which usually translates at that time of the morning to "must run barking outside, deer are closing in!" Having fallen for this trick a few times I rolled over and went back to sleep. Five o'clock, more Zeke noise, and dog bladder guilt finally drives me out of bed and to the door. I slide the door open, blocking Zeke from blasting out, and stand there in my underwear surveying the situation. There wasn't much light so it was mostly an empty gesture meant to assure Zeke that I didn't see anything threatening and he should just go to the bathroom. The dog and cat both went out when I stood aside, Zeke headed to the woods, casually. Good.

I went about preparing the morning's coffee while waiting for his return. Water, beans, grind, flip switch and head back to the door. Tink is sitting on the rock by the fish pond and off on the edge of the woods I see a black blob. Zeke? No answer or movement. Hmm, maybe it's that goofy black cat from next door. I listen for Zeke's rustling in the woods and when none is forthcoming I call for him again. Nothing. A couple more calls and finally the black blob stands up and slowly makes its way to the house. Zeke. He has a hard time climbing the stairs. As he crosses the porch I notice he's limping, one of the back legs all but inoperative.

He's a whining and yarping dog from then on. I examine him and can't find anything obvious. There's a somewhat recent scab on the leg, but after cleaning it up it looks like a small scratch or puncture, nothing serious. At this point Zeke isn't moving, he sits there like a sphynx, motionless and staring intently.

I should point out that this isn't anything new. Once every year or so Zeke will overdo it, either from too much activity or by whacking himself during mad dashes through the woods. In the evening he'll be a little slow and creaky, by morning he'll be sore and immobile. Touch him and he'll yarp. The location of the yarp varies, which makes it really hard to troubleshoot. Later that day or the next he'll be better, or as Faith says "tail is up to quarter mast." Zeke's tail being a good barometer of his internal weather.

I filled Faith in on the morning's dog problems and we checked him out again. Worse. Not a happy dog at all. We decided to take him to the vet. I went off to work for a while and around two came back and drove the thirty some miles to a new vet we've been trying. The vet asked a few questions, I did a poor job communicating Zeke's problem and failed to fill her in on past incidents. When he yarped under inspection the vet pretty much freaked out, shot him up with a pain killer, and hustled him away for xrays. Oh, and shaved the hair from half of his butt, revealing the little wound and a bunch of red/bruised dog skin. Dog skin is not tan.

At forty some dollars a pop we were treated to three xrays of Zeke's hind end: butt shot, crotch shot, and bad leg shot. I wish I had my camera along, they were pretty cool looking and I've always wondered what made him tick. Looking at the xrays re-inforces one of his nicknames: Crazy Legs. It seems impossible that such a collection of bones can do so much.

The xray showed healthy bones. No breaks, maybe a knee slightly out of joint, but she wasn't sure. In fact everything about the visit was awash in uncertaintity. When a barrage of pills and tests were suggested I grabbed my dog and ran for the door. As gracefully as I could, mind you, but out of there all the same.

Zeke was in pretty poor shape by this time. Pain killer does such a number on animals. His eyes were dead, nose watering, lips akimbo and stuck strangely to teeth, and his coat was dull and disheveled. It's like they injected a minor demon into him which was slowly and surely ebbing away his very soul.

Back at the house I helped Zeke climb the stairs (a house full of stairs) and he collapsed on the nearest spot of open floor. He lay there, almost motionless, his face seeming to slide off his head. When Faith got home he brightened a bit and we treated him to lots of biscuits, pizza bones, and even a little bit of bacon. He was appreciative but slow to eat it.

Later in the evening I started feeling ill. Latent empathetic healing ability kicking in? If so then Zeke should have been dancing 'cause I felt like crap and getting worse by the second. Collapsing on the couch my mind worried over Zeke while drifting in and out of sleep. Sometime later I woke briefly to hear Faith taking him outside and helping him move around.

It must have been around two when I woke again, this time to the sound of Zeke squeaking. Faith was in bed and Zeke was laying on a dog bed by the couch. I crawled over to pet and reassure him, which seemed to help, but each time I tried to go back to sleep he would start again. Finally, thinking only of myself, I went down the hall to climb in bed, hoping I wouldn't be able to hear him.

Not even ten seconds later he hobbled down the hall and stood at the foot of the bed. We have a new bed and it's over three foot tall, not something an injured dog should attempt. I dragged his dog bed into the room but he ignored it, staring up at our bed...ours and his bed. Jeezum. Grabbing as carefully as possible I helped him up on the bed at which point he really yarped, squeaked, and sort of fell into a sleeping position. Faith woke up, Zeke had most of the bed, and as I tried to crawl in they both snapped at me.

Ok. Back to the couch. Zeke plunged right to sleep, not another sound. Must have been the pain and not wanting to be left alone. Faith is nurturing and motherly when us animals get hurt so it only makes sense that he'd want to be with her.

By morning he was in better shape, still limping but the leg touches the ground sometimes. His barometer even has a bit of wag in it.

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