There is such a thing as great problems to have.

The good news is, our pup is recovering remarkably well at a stunning pace; so the 24 hour death watch is officially over--permanantly, we hope. The bad news is, the death watch has been replaced by a 24 hour 'keeping her from killing her damn self' watch, which is equally exhausting. Living with a dog that is learning to walk all over again is a lot like having a toddler. Except a ninety pound toddler, with four rubber legs instead of two. The second I answer the phone, or go to the bathroom, or head to the kitchen for more tea*, little miss wobbly drawers tries to get up on the couch, or onto our platform bed (not lofted, just real high) or into some kind of wonderful, hopeful, just like her old self-full activity that would undoubtedly cause insane damage to her healing spine if she were to fall. A few times a day we experience the combination great joy/heartbreak of her struggling, successfully, to run to the door when she hears someone in the hall, or when the doorbell rings. She wants to keep going when we are out on walks, wants to keep sniffing, insists on following the kitties, always past the point where she has the energy to make it back home without assistance. She's full of the beans, I tell you. I can't leave her alone for a second. I haven't slept in nearly two weeks. It's fantastic.

*wine