As many of you are painfully aware--because you caught wind of my weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth--Pookey Bear is once again under the weather, having suffered for several days with intermittent colic.

Not to worry! We are now throwing everything but the kitchen sink at him, confident that he will mend.

In the meantime, no new photos--just like those celebrities, he doesn't want to be caught not looking his best!

But we felt it was important to celebrate his birthday with an artist's rendering (courtesy of his 'auntie') and a few words about the glowing report he received at his recent doctor visit.

Thanks to top-flight veterinary care, a fabulous farrier, and an incomparable nurse (that would be me) Pookey Bear's feet are finally starting to look better, both inside and out. He has been feeling better for several months, with most days being completely painfree, and his gait (in boots) being very relaxed and relatively sound. But yesterday's radiographs showed that he is also improving on the inside: he is growing good sole on both feet, his medio-lateral balance is improving, and he grew enough toe in four weeks that Joe actually had to put some muscle into the nippers!

Amazingly, he walked on the concrete at the clinic completely barefoot, and looked very comfortable doing so. It is amazing because it is just eight months after his tendon surgery, and just a few short months since he was still battling acute pain from abscesses. Dr. D and Dr. W have okayed more hand-walking and light hand-jogging to rebuild lost muscle mass. (I assume that will be working for me, too? If Pookey winds up looking like Obvious Conclusion, am I going to wind up looking like Flo Jo? Or is it likely the best I can hope for is Billie Jean King?)

If Pookey could talk (my other half insists he CAN'T!) I know that he would like to thank his farrier, doctors, banker, owners, and friends for all of their help and support.

But I suspect that he might also add the following:

"Today was my 12th birthday. I was hoping for some carrots and a cake. Instead, they hung a bag of fluids on me, threw me in the trailer, hauled me for hours, rasped my achin' dogs, and bombarded me with yet another round of gamma rays. Then one of my doctors--who has always been so nice to me!--stuck his arm someplace I didn't like, and as if that wasn't enough, my caretaker stuck a garden hose someplace else I didn't like after I got home!

"They say they are trying to help me. Yeah, right...thanks a lot for the help! What's gonna happen when I turn 13, a catheterization and a colonoscopy?"