There is nothing worse, for me, than having a dog who does not feel well. Without words, it is difficult to ascertain what is wrong.

At 2:30 am, Houston started to vomit. He coughed, almost like a cat with a furball.

He paced around the bedroom, ran down the stairs, coughed, vomited, and then did it again.

For 2-1/2 hours, that was our routine. He vomited in the bedroom and on the stairs. He licked the carpet.

Sweet Houston ran himself outside even though it was raining.  He chewed on snow.

All I could do was follow, watch, and feel for him. I sat on the floor. I felt his belly.

Finally, close to 5:00 am, Houston settled on the back of the love seat upstairs and I curled up next to him. Faith, Booker, Gus, and Betty White all came into the room with us.

Houston’s been chewing on a big shoulder/knuckle bone. I think it upset his stomach.

This morning, I can still hear some gurgles from his tummy. But, he is happy with his chicken from Uncle Tony.

Our pet psychic told me that we all have the ability to communicate with animals. We just have to do it.

She also told me that “Dwight is always here. He never leaves. The dogs see him and love him.”

Last night, I felt Dwight. He was in my dreams when I fell asleep early this morning.