Old Dream Recurring Girlfriend from the 80s leans up against a column and lights a cigarette. “You know your work has been mediocre since this whole thing,” she said. I didn’t want to agree but I had to admit she was right.

Woke. Gave Birch a scratch. I felt on his bed to feel for wet spots left by seizure drool. It was dry. Well. We’d made it through the night: hurrah.

The room above is where we spent Thursday evening. The Emergency Vet, where the wait is always two-to-three hours. We'd called after the second seizure. They gave us pills. Friday morning: hopeful. We went to the regular vet, which has a new office in a building nearby the old locale. I don’t know what the old building could be used for. I don’t know if it’s possible to get the pet stink out. Birch went to the new place right away, no doubt guided by scent, and as usual: excitement! And then! Oh no!

The vet was nice. I decided to take the dog by the ears and tell her what I knew, and she should correct me when I’m wrong:

It’s not one-and-done because he seized twice within 12 hours. Duration 1 minute 45 seconds. Here’s the video. The etiology is three-fold. 1, Some transitory toxin or contamination that will be revealed by bloodwork. This is not likely, but has to eliminated. 2, Epilepsy is unlikely, given the age, but it is not off the table. 3. A intracranial mass or brain infection, which would be revealed by an MRI and spinal tap. He is now on Keppra, and has not had recurrence. If he does have a recurrence, and the pace accelerates, we try Phenobarbitol, and if that does not work, we are faced with a decision. Do I have that right?

Meanwhile Birch is looking around with interest, tail wagging.

Yes, that was it. Saved her a lot of time. So we went for the expensive Senior Dog Blood Workup, just to get that out of the way. We have for the moment decided against the MRI and spinal tap because it would be hard on him, and the best thing right now is to see how the seizure suppression medication works. If it does, then we continue on with that for the rest of his days, and take it as it comes.

When we left Birch was excited and danced to the car; when we got home he ran up the tunnel and barked to get inside and get a bite to eat. He had a normal day in every respect, except for some medications. As if this writing he hasn’t had a seizure in 36 hours.'

Something struck me as I was heading to the gym on Friday - if this was an intracranial mass, what are the chances it announces itself like this? Wouldn’t there be precursor indicators? Behavioral changes? So there I am in the gym parking lot talking to Grok and getting my suspicions confirmed. Yes, lots of indicators before. I wonder if I’d phrased the question in such a way that the AI wanted to reassure me or agree. No, it was neutral.

There’s that. It would surprising if they called back on Monday and said “whoa, sodium imbalance, we can treat that with tablets” but I doubt it. So it’s pills until it’s worse.

I end the weekend warily optimistic. When we had the talk at the emergency vet she was talking about an accelerating series of clustered seizures that would indicate the window closing to days, maybe a week. That was so shocking and cold I dismissed it right away. I had no basis for rejecting that prognosis then. I think I do now.

At the worst of the worst I went back to the flat phrase that hit me after I got The Letter: I have lost my wife my house my career my dog. That last item was removed from the equation when she said I could have Birch because she was moving elsewhere. But now I saw the Final Resting Place, or the Hip New Place, without Birch.

The world shrank even more and got real quiet.

We continue with a small amount of manufactured enthusiasm to explore the trademarks of 1925, because no one else is. NO ONE!

		They were all about the Pepsin in the early part of the 20th century. See also, Pepsodent. You'd certainly reach for this on the shelf if the other brand was just Pepsin, Singular.

We are committed to finishing this damned thing. I thought there were 12 but three remain. Let us roll up our sleeves and spit on our palms and head into it.

There was a fistfight, and an unconscious Blackhawk was helpless to avoid being crushed by some barrels.

Well, of course.

The fistfight continues, and I have to say this sequence cracks me up: good fight choreography, considering, then the slow cops, then . . . MEXICO

Remember, he’s strumming MORSE CHORD, sending messages. I’ve completely forgotten why we are in Mexico in the first place, but I’m sure it has to do with the Mystery Fuel and the Red agents who want to steal the formula.

One of the Blackhawks follows the guitar player, which sets up an ambush. Reminder, this is taking place right after the previous fight.

One of the Red Agents gets the drop on Blackhawk, and then Blackhawk gets the drop on him, so they force the commie to take them to the place where Element X - the fuel, now I remember - is being kept. It is, of course, a trap. But the Blackhawks plural manage to get the cylinder of Element X, and head to their lavishly appointed plane.

But! The Reds use their transmitter to send instructions to the Red in the plane via morse code on his watch!

Apparently the instructions are “throw the cylinder out the door because it’s actually a bomb.”

Two more.

Diner's off for a couple of weeks. I'm tapped, frankly.