We Have a Houseguest.

And he has the most lethal farts I've ever suffered.

Kate and I had a lovely day together yesterday, fighting torrential rains and 37-degree F weather (because, it couldn't get 5 degrees colder and give us a slightly less soggy and more enjoyable experience) in order to finish up some Christmas shopping.

At one point she mentioned that between hanging out with us and her new boyfriend and trying to stay with friends in the city where she's working so that she has transportation to work... she hadn't been back to her pied-a-terre in about a week.  She wanted to check on a former roommate's dog, because when he was evicted he just abandoned the poor thing.  SO we grabbed a bag of dog food and headed over there.

When we got there, it was clear the dog had not been fed since she was last home.

Jackson the two-year-old black Lab was in such poor condition that he could barely walk.  His ribs, spine, and hip bones are all clearly delineated, and his eyes were so red and rheumy that I thought he had an eye infection.  He limps and favors his front right paw; I wonder if he was so weak and disoriented from his emaciation that he fell on it and sprained it.  It's not broken or fractured, thank goodness.  Without thinking about it, I told Kate to bring him to the car.  He could barely walk there, and Kate had to lift him up into the back seat.  When he got inside, he could barely sit by himself.

All the way home I kept thinking, "The only thing that will keep Ivan from killing me is to throw myself on his mercy."  So I did.

And my wonderful, patient, non-dog-loving husband did not let me down.

I'm seriously still shaking and every time I think about this, I cry.  You should have heard me on the phone with the animal hospital earlier.  I could barely get the words out.  The "golden voice" was wobbly and cracked every sentence.  I couldn't sleep last night because I wasn't sure he was going to make it through the night.  I fed him at 3 AM just to be on the safe side.

The good news is that today he is looking so much better.  His eyes are clear and no longer weeping.  He hasn't lost any hair.  He is much more active and alert.  The vet thinks he needs another week or two of rest and gentle convalescence before we try to get him placed, but feels that he should be able to make a full recovery.

And my knight in shining armor played tug-of-war with him today.  To watch Jackson's tail wag is to brim over with tears yet again.  To see him curled up by Ivan's chair is to realize how much I love my gentle, protective husband, whose qualities an abandoned and hopeful dog can see and feel.

And when Jackson farts, all Ivan says is, "Good God, dude..."

I don't think I can love that man more than right now.