Today, after the morning walk, I had to go to the store and buy baby food because he can't eat anything solid for a week. (And let me just interject something here: Over a dollar for a tiny jar of baby grub?? Holy crap. How do people actually feed their babies? No wonder the moms I know make their own). I'm hoping Mr Picky will eat this stuff, though if he doesn't, Max will. There's nothing like being homeless and living rough to give a guy some perspective: any food is fine with him.
On top of the baby food, I also have to give Oz two separate meds--one for pain, the other antibiotics--besides the four he's taking every day for his heart issues. I feel like I'm running a doggy triage unit at the moment with prescription bottles and syringes and stitches and gummy food all over the kitchen.
Max, of course, just rolls with whatever happens. No issues with his teeth cleaning, quick recovery after the anesthesia, healthy dinner and a nice long nap last night. He's back to normal as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred yesterday. I don't know if it's his age (only six), his life on the streets, or he was just born a totally laid-back dude. Maybe all of the above.
Whatever. I'm just thankful I only have to handle one invalid at a time...