Winston has been home for about 30 minutes now and he’s getting around better than I anticipated. He’s still pretty unstable in the turns, but he’s putting weight on the leg and at least making an effort. That’s probably more than I’d do less than 24 hours after someone intentionally broke my femur and put in a steel plate. Other than a quick pit stop on the way inside, he went straight to his crate and is currently snoring like a chainsaw. Pain meds must be wonderful things.

I’m sitting here at the kitchen table looking at about 50 pages of discharge instructions, six bottles of pills, canned and bagged prescription food, and a helpful diagram showing how to “sling walk” your pooch. I suspect the next 14 weeks are going to be harder on me than on him… especially since the vet made a point of reminding me that veterinary medication is not for human consumption. I’m wondering if I look like a guy who thinks pet medicine would be a good idea or if that’s a standard warning to avoid liability issues.

As usual, my boy was a hit with the techs and two of them were hanging out in his kennel when I got to the vet’s office. And by hanging out I mean sitting in the cage hand feeding him and rubbing his belly. They may have set his expectations a little too high for how things are going to go around here for the next few weeks, but still, I appreciated the extra attention.

Maggie spent all day yesterday roaming the house looking for him and is currently trying to wrap her little brown head around why he doesn’t seem to want to play. For the moment, though, she seems happy crashing next to his crate and keeping an eye on things. It appears that this is what the rest of the weekend will look like.