A dog named (wait for this...) Turbo!

The story is that he was sitting out in a field near an office complex, looking dehydrated, emaciated, and infected all at once. She Who Would Rescue The World calls me on the cell phone, telling me she has a "problem" and needs to see me at work over lunch. The "problem" was a tiny little furball, lethargic and looking as if today were going to be his last. She saw him out of the corner of her eye as she was driving to lunch. Honest to Gawd, I think she honestly scans for such things...

So I give in. Which I always friggin' do. I knock off a couple hours early, go grab the little doober from the house, and head straight to the family pet doc.

I walk out of there $65.00 lighter, knowing that the 15-ounce furball is seriously dehydrated, has worms, a massive respiratory infection, is a boy, and should perk up after getting de-wormed and as he sucks down the antibiotics and prescription (!) canned food.

Within just a couple treatments of the antibiotics, he comes to life. This is him after just one day of feeding and antibiotics:


He's gained an absolutely amazing amount of strength and ambition since the above photo, so much so that we call him "Turbo" because he does everything in top gear. Even making room in the litter box for deposits results in mass quantities of Tidy Cat being flung halfway across the interim nursery. That's fine, his disposition and zest for all things both cat and human are refreshing, although his introduction to the two big dogs in the house is on a rocky start. Since the photo above he's gained more weight, and has no qualms about attacking me from halfway across the room. Tonight, it's "rush the old man from across the bed, then veer off for another attack from a different angle" night:

Here's to you, Turbo. Hope you and the dogs get along, because I'd hate to have to give you up now that we've become acquainted...