Good days, bad days

Beattie must have had a funny turn the other night - she was restless and fidgety, but not really more than usual. But in the morning she really wasn't herself; if she was human you'd think she'd had a mild stroke, but dogs don't get strokes in the same way as people do. She was very wobbly on her legs, with a definite list to port; she slithered down the stairs (me going backwards in front of her acting as a safety-net), bumped into the lefthand wall in the hall, bumped into the lefthand doorpost into the kitchen, and when on the tiled floor by the back door her left legs shot out sideways. She wanted to come for a walk, and being on the lead I could keep her going in the right (d'you see what I did there?) direction, and we went widdershins around the field because that was easier for her.

Granny dogsat her when I was at work and the at the end of the shift the vet popped in to check her over. There's nothing that you can pinpoint as being the cause, but clearly something's gone wrong somewhere - a blown fuse, maybe, making her left side weaker. So she has tablets to try to increase the blood flow to her brain and follow a watching brief. I don't think we've reached the end of the road yet, but we must be close to the final straight; I've told Beattie she's got to last out all the time Mother's here because I don't think I could handle Mother's distress as well as my own.