I saw "The Cell" the other night. It was pretty like a Bosch painting, or maybe a Goya, but it held none of the depth and meaning of either. In other words, nice visuals, but the story blew.

But before that, I took Fizgig to see the vet. I ended up having to leave him there for a couple of hours so they could sedate him and take x-rays. It turns out I was right about his shoulder being out of socket, but because of previous injuries (it had been broken in two different places previously, and neither had healed correctly. There's just no telling what all that dog went through before I found him), it wouldn't stay in place when he tried to put it back in. So he sent him home with some pain killers, and I'm supposed to keep him confined for about 10 days, then we'll go from there. If the shoulder won't stay in by itself, they'll have to insert a metal pin to hold it in place. Ick poo nasty. Traumatic for the dog, and expensive for me. So we're hoping and praying that it will go back in and stay of its own accord.

On the up side, the vet was extremely impressed with the progress he's made since I found him. His fur has grown back everywhere but on his left front leg, which was the most damaged, but it's almost healed too. He's gone from 6 to 7 pounds in the two months that I've had him, which is quite a difference in something so small. Except for the leg and allergies, he's completely healthy. Yay.

At the vet, I found myself having to explain his name a lot. I had to explain it to my family when I first named him, but I pretty much expected that. I guess it never occurred to me that I was naming him after such an obscure piece of early eighties pop-culture. So, for any of you who've wondered what the hell kind of name for a dog is Fizgig and where did I come up with it anyway, I'll tell you: Fizgig is a Muppet from "The Dark Crystal," one which my little dog resembled very closely when I first found him; he's the little hairball in this picture. So now you know. Happy?