Paw Prints

I don't know how I managed to miss them for the three hours I was home alone tonight. Probably it has to do with the fact that I have my desk, and Fuzzy has his, and neither of us share well.

Zorro was burbling at me when I got home this afternoon, and for a moment I was convinced our run of Seizure Free Months was over, but then he settled, curling up on my sweatshirt, which I'd tossed onto Fuzzy's chair.

Fuzzy found the paw prints when he got home. At first we thought one of the dogs had had an accident of the lawn-gift variety, but our dogs don't generally do such things, and never under desks. Then we suspected they were chocolate – I'd left half a Krackle bar on my desk, and found the remains – shredded foil – on the floor.

But, no. It was blood. Little Zorro-prints in dried blood. Ugh.

But neither dog seemed to be in pain.

And then I picked up my little Z. And looked at his feet.

Somehow, in a fashion known only to chihuahuas, I'm certain, Zorro had snagged a nail on something, and snapped it off at the quick. (For those of you who aren't dog-owners, if you cut a dog's claws too closely, they do bleed. This would have bled more.)

We cleaned it up, cuddled the dog, and that was that. He's still subdued though – didn't even growl at Cleo when she stole half his dinner.

Silly boy-dog.