The vet called Saturday morning. They were concerned. They couldn't get TheDog to eat in ICU. And she still wasn't eating more than a nibble when we went to visit Friday night.
The vet suggested we try at home. For 24 hours. To see if being there was depressing her. To see if she'd be more comfortable at home.
I went to pick her up. The vet was not optimistic that we could get her to eat for us. She told us the words you never want to hear, Just try to make her comfortable.
I got her home and settled. Tried to get her to eat. To drink water. Desperate to make her better, not just comfortable. She wanted none of it.
My sister and her husband came over, my parents drove up. I got e-mails and calls from so many people, worried about her. Praying for her. Fingers crossed. Paws crossed.
Finally just before Grandpa had to leave to take care of his own furry critters, she ate some of the turkey burger he bought for her. Then some of the bun. And a little more turkey and rice. And water.
And she's looking less doped up by the pain meds. And more happy to see everyone. But I'm trying not to get my hopes up too high, since we still haven't heard about the biopsies.
But I'm still praying and wishing and hoping against hope.
Fingers and paws still crossed.