The Vet wanted to keep Squig overnight.  That was part of why I didn't sleep.  The other part was worry.  Yes, I know, Christians aren't supposed to worry, but if you are like me, I wonder if you have that part perfected either?  I'm much better than I used to be.  Usually.  Working on it.

So, yesterday when I went to pick Squig up, the Vet sat down with me and discussed what he had found.  He had two other doctors look at the X-rays and they have somewhat revised their opinions as to what could be wrong.  Now they think it is 40/60 not 50/50.  They have backed off a little on the cancer diagnosis, and don't want to do a biopsy until the stitches are out and the gums have healed.

They said there are two other possibilities as to what the problem might be.  Praise God for small victories.  I'm going to count that as 33.33...%.  (Being mathematical, 1 out of 3.)   Everyone I know was praying for Squig.  Thank you.  Friends are the best thing in the world.   Some people would say I am silly praying for a dog.  That's okay.  You don't get it.  Scott e-mailed me to remind me of what I did to his dog years ago--back when I didn't "get it" about dogs.

He said I called the pound to come pick his dog up.  I'm sure it was because Scott wouldn't take care of the dog?  I don't remember.   If it's true that I did such a horrible thing, it must have accomplished what I intended because Scott remembers it.  And I would have never done such a thing if I hadn't been sure it was for only an overnight stay--because I knew the man who worked the pound.  Pryor was a very small town.  Everybody knew everybody.

That wasn't the only time I called the city over something Scott did.  When he was 10 he got a BB gun--along with instructions as to a zillion things he was told not to shoot.  I forgot street lights.  I personally took him downtown to the mayor--who was also a friend of mine--so that the mayor could explain the "Way of the Lord" to Scott.  Along with a plan for Scott to pay for the street lights.