Zorro keeps looking up at me with big liquid eyes that beseech me to make him feel better, and help him breathe, and I can’t do anything but soothe him and stroke him, and tell him he’s a good dog…and shove pills encapsulated in cheese down his throat.

We’re trying to keep him warm, but not hot, and comfortable. To that end, we’ve taken his collar off him, so now he’s naked, and I’m paranoid that he’ll escape, as he is want to do. He isn’t one to run away, but he was a stray, and loves to explore. He knows where home is though…and I know that this is an irrational fear: he isn’t even coming to the kitchen to beg for treats when there are food sounds, and this is a dog who lives for treats.

Miss Cleo is subdued as well, and is being nice to him – not roughhousing or stealing food, or any of her normal little-sister-type behavior. She went to him a moment ago, and licked his ear, and then came to me and put her head on my leg, and sighed.

The meds are – slowly – kicking in. Last night we slept in fifteen and twenty minute snatches, between his coughing fits, but this evening, he’s going for an hour between attacks, and they’re shorter, and less severe, but still wheezy and awful. He just had his evening meds, so hopefully we’ll ALL get some rest tonight, him included.

I had planned to dismantle Christmas today, and reclaim the house, but instead I spent half the day sleeping and the other half trying to, though we did watch the first two episodes of Numb3rs on DVD, since we’d never watched the show live…I quite like it so far.

I’m tired and cranky, and worried, and I feel so helpless. How do parents of human children get through this stuff, when it’s this difficult with a dog?