Leo was 15 1/3 today. We didn’t celebrate with marrow bones and raw beef, foods that wonderful Dr. Kristie Williams at the Animal Medical Center (who discovered that Leo’s frightening sickness was being cause by the NSAID prescribed for his arthritis) labels as “dietary indiscretions” for an older Lab.
But Leo, wearing his red life preserver, retrieved a tennis ball thrown repeatedly into the Esopus, soaked in the Groverkill and walked in the woods through the suddenly tall ferns. A good day, like many past Saturdays.
Happy birthday, Schmoo, and many more.