Thing 3 called to say Sparky the WunderBeagle appears to be much better. Moving slowly, but moving again. He ate his supper (from yesterday), drank some water, and then wanted to go out and pee.
Heck, let the lovable guy bark himself horse for once. (He's gotten the previous tenant in trouble with John Law for barking too much.) Apparently some third shift neighbor called the coppers at the slightest "Arf!" Then again, beagles um, are supposed to bark in the less than humble author's opinion.
And I'll point out we were there first. The fuckers moved in long after we did. Just because their house costs (and looks) about triple what our shack is worth ain't got lick spittle to do with it, now does it. I like being the trailer trash equivalent in engineering suburban america.