What an evening it's been. One minute all was right with the world, and the next, poor Wally the dog was partially paralyzed and had little to no control of his hindquarters.
Hubby and I spent a rather teary evening at the emergency veterinary clinic, where Wally is now spending the night, complete with IV fluids and round-the-clock care. They called in their staff neurologist, who opined that at the moment, fluids, hospitalization and a bit of time are the way to go. (The ER doc immediately jumped to we-may-as-well-go-bankrupt surgery as the way to go, so the neurologist's opinion was a relief. Because faced with $5,000 in veterinary bills, I am afraid we might have euthanized our dog instead of opting for surgery. Even though we really didn't want that outcome.)
I am hoping that the slight advances that Wally appears to have made in the over 2-1/2 hours that we hung out with him at the emergency clinic continue, and that it means he'll be able to come home and mend on his own. Because the alternative is staggeringly heartbreaking.
Good vibes appreciated.