After a long, strangely sleep-filled night, Jillian and I walked back to the vet this morning to check on our fearless friend, Olie. As we walked down the driveway of the vet’s office, all of our questions were quickly answered when we heard a sound we have grown accustom to hearing over the past couple weeks: Olie’s high-pitched whining.
We went through the gate to the outside kennel area, and there he was (alive!), sitting in a small metal crate desperately waiting to be released. The crisis had been averted. We opened his crate and he quickly jumped out, snuggling up in our arms as if trying to say, “Take me home as soon as you possibly can.” We went in to get his IV taken out, we paid our bill, and then put him down for the first time as he barreled out of the vet’s office.
He’s still a little weak, and looks like he lost about 10 pounds since yesterday, but other than that he’s doing good. You can tell that he’s still uncomfortable, as he moans and whines a little more than usual, but who wouldn’t be after being poisoned and on the brink of death. We’re going to keep a close eye on him for the next 24 hours just to make sure everything is back to normal, but I think we really dodged a bullet this time. So everyone can breathe easy now, knowing that the super-duper-pooper-scooper is BACK, and that his reign of terror is far from over.