Friday. Wish it wasn't this particular Friday.
No call from vet, not even to ask if Whiz died overnight, or whether he can even walk. Gave him another max dose of Rimadyl for breakfast, and he's come in and out a couple of times. Been working through the list of vets that I have dealt often with, from the rehab side. Long list of those I've seen once or twice, or fetched birds from, but only a few that I feel I can ask for a personal favour. Especially seeing as handing out pain meds of the quality I'm after to a patient they have never seen is probably illegal. First one is GirlVet at the bird practice, and I have to go there just now anyway, to have new orthopedic shoes made for the rickety mynah. Second is the meerkat-mom vet, who is more likely to have the right stuff, but I don't know if she would feel comfortable with giving it to me. Although, I have told her before over a small meerkat body that if ever I changed vets, she would be it, in spite of being miles away. And then there's PigeonVet, but it would have to come from her husband, and I don't really know him that well. Apart from the fact that he thinks I also have a screw or two loose to be looking after pigeons anyway.
Watching Whiz just now was enough to break my heart, and I think I am probably making the right decision. Just wish though that I could have a vet to decide it, as the expert. I don't think I will ever ask my local vet for anything, ever again. This one just feels like too much of a disappointment.
So the boys and I will spend as much of the weekend in close physical contact as possible. I will spend it in close physical contact with a vodka bottle as well. Somewhere in there is temporary oblivion, and I'd like to find it.