Blah...

My world has narrowed to the size of one tiny little dog.  Ozzy had the worst spell ever on Thursday night, one that lasted longer, with more aftereffects than any of the previous episodes, and when he "came back" he wasn't the same wee boy.  His legs wouldn't work, he trembled and quaked...it was horrible.  I didn't expect him to make it though the night.

But he did.  Friday he was still wobbly, couldn't even walk down the driveway, but had no trouble eating or drinking.  Saturday and Sunday he seemed to rally, and I even took both dogs to the VA for a small walk, though I ended up carrying Oz back to the car.  By yesterday afternoon, he was playing with one of his toys, though he quickly got too tired.  

Then last night I had an acute attack of insomnia.  Woke up at 2:55 and was still tossing and turning at 5:00.  Thoughts twisted in my head, churned my stomach.  When is enough, enough?  How do I make the call?  Know when it's the right time?

This morning I called the vet.  I told him what had been happening since Thursday, dread still clinging from too many dark thoughts in the middle of the night.  I won't go into the details of our talk, except to say I have the best veterinarian in the world.  He's compassionate and kind, and understands my total and utter reluctance to choose, especially when Ozzy's watching me with his big brown eyes as I'm discussing his demise.

So, after much conversation,  we decided the best course is this: if his next spell doesn't take him, then there's only one decision to be made.  

There's just no winning this one.