As in: when we entered the Vet’s office this evening, Della weighed 28.4 pounds. When we left, she weight 25.3 pounds, and we left 3.1 pounds of puked up dog food with the very cute vet. (Although I’m reaching the age where the professionals are now younger than me, so cute is losing its meaning. Cute like I’d like to introduce one of my former photography students to him, not cute as in he’s anywhere near old enough for me to wink at. How depressing is that.)
The good news? Her belly is no longer distended. The bad news? Neither is my wallet. Assuming its state before was something even remotely close to as full as her tummy was.
Which it wasn’t.