My Broken Puppydog
This past week or so has been so hectic! With my classes, preparing for Dayni and Danny's Couple's Shower, Carolyn's birthday, and then the shower itself, I've felt like I've been going non-stop. I was so looking forward to Wednesday b/ I had another holiday from work. Thank you, Veterans, for your service in protecting our country (and for giving your lives in many cases). My intentions were to sleep-in and to catch a parade or memorial or something that day. Instead, it turned out so different.
At about 4am, I woke up to go to the bathroom. The house smelled awful and I had no idea what Mom had burned in the wee hours of the morning. I go downstairs to check things out, and all the lights are on w/ my mom 1/2 asleep at the kitchen table. Mom then tells me the story:
Georgie was making a ton of noise and needed to be let out around 3am. Amazingly, I didn't hear him whine, but normally if he wants outside in the middle of the night, he "woofs" at my bed from the garage below... Mom said that he had trouble going to the bathroom once he was outside, and she thought he might have been hunting a squirrel from the way he layed in the grass. Well, no hunting was had, and he didn't get out of the wet lawn. This was unusual b/ he really doesn't like water despite his Lab heritage. George walks up to Mom on the deck, and she sees that his tummy is huge and bloated. She touches it and feels that it is hard and George is still whining. Mom couldn't wake Dad up, and didn't want to wake me up, so she actually walked up the stairs to get my father. Dad took George to the "doggie ER" around 330am....
In the end, George had surgery to fix his flipped stomach. It's a not-too-uncommon problem with dogs with "big chest cavities" like George. What happens to a dog's stomach is as gross as it sounds. Basically, the stomach turns over and the food is trapped inside where it can't go out thru the bowls, and it can't be thrown up. The doctors un-flipped the stomach and sewed it to the inside of his chest so that it wouldn't re-flip.
George came home tonight, Friday. My parents had decided that if the doctors weren't going to release him, that George would have to be put to sleep b/ they couldn't afford the cost of the dog hospital (which was near $9,000 as of last night). I was happy to hear that George was coming home, but the poor dog is so sad. He's drugged on pain pills and his tummy is shaved, and he has this wierd pillow to wear when we're not around so he doesn't chew or lick at his stitches. Plus, there is a ton of medicine. Dad just went to go get some Pepcid b/ all the doggie meds will start to give him heartburn since he's still not eating much of anything.
His prognosis is better than it was, but a lot of it will depend on if he heals from this ordeal. He needs to be able to produce some white blood cells so his blood clots to heal the body, and he wasn't doing that. Dad was going to try to buy some meat-flavored baby food to see if he'd swallow a few licks of that since he doesn't want his kibble. I'm so hopeful for a recovery that I put up the baby gate on the stairs so he doesn't wander up here and leave me a present in the middle of the night. :>)
On top of all of this, the doctors discovered that George not only has one "broken" leg, but two. There is the one we knew about, his back-right leg (if you're looking at him) b/of the torn ACL (is that the right human words?). My parents had a hard time with deciding on what to do with that leg b/ the surgery was super expensive, but it looks like they spent just as much at the ER, huh? The other back leg has a semi-torn knee muscle. It's probably from having to compensate for the other leg in back. :>(
My poor puppydog. I didn't enjoy babysitting him when my parents were gone, but I still love the guy. He's got a lot of personality and still has the heart of a puppy, not that of his middleaged peers. Georgie is 8 years old. Where did the time go?
At about 4am, I woke up to go to the bathroom. The house smelled awful and I had no idea what Mom had burned in the wee hours of the morning. I go downstairs to check things out, and all the lights are on w/ my mom 1/2 asleep at the kitchen table. Mom then tells me the story:
Georgie was making a ton of noise and needed to be let out around 3am. Amazingly, I didn't hear him whine, but normally if he wants outside in the middle of the night, he "woofs" at my bed from the garage below... Mom said that he had trouble going to the bathroom once he was outside, and she thought he might have been hunting a squirrel from the way he layed in the grass. Well, no hunting was had, and he didn't get out of the wet lawn. This was unusual b/ he really doesn't like water despite his Lab heritage. George walks up to Mom on the deck, and she sees that his tummy is huge and bloated. She touches it and feels that it is hard and George is still whining. Mom couldn't wake Dad up, and didn't want to wake me up, so she actually walked up the stairs to get my father. Dad took George to the "doggie ER" around 330am....
In the end, George had surgery to fix his flipped stomach. It's a not-too-uncommon problem with dogs with "big chest cavities" like George. What happens to a dog's stomach is as gross as it sounds. Basically, the stomach turns over and the food is trapped inside where it can't go out thru the bowls, and it can't be thrown up. The doctors un-flipped the stomach and sewed it to the inside of his chest so that it wouldn't re-flip.
George came home tonight, Friday. My parents had decided that if the doctors weren't going to release him, that George would have to be put to sleep b/ they couldn't afford the cost of the dog hospital (which was near $9,000 as of last night). I was happy to hear that George was coming home, but the poor dog is so sad. He's drugged on pain pills and his tummy is shaved, and he has this wierd pillow to wear when we're not around so he doesn't chew or lick at his stitches. Plus, there is a ton of medicine. Dad just went to go get some Pepcid b/ all the doggie meds will start to give him heartburn since he's still not eating much of anything.
His prognosis is better than it was, but a lot of it will depend on if he heals from this ordeal. He needs to be able to produce some white blood cells so his blood clots to heal the body, and he wasn't doing that. Dad was going to try to buy some meat-flavored baby food to see if he'd swallow a few licks of that since he doesn't want his kibble. I'm so hopeful for a recovery that I put up the baby gate on the stairs so he doesn't wander up here and leave me a present in the middle of the night. :>)
On top of all of this, the doctors discovered that George not only has one "broken" leg, but two. There is the one we knew about, his back-right leg (if you're looking at him) b/of the torn ACL (is that the right human words?). My parents had a hard time with deciding on what to do with that leg b/ the surgery was super expensive, but it looks like they spent just as much at the ER, huh? The other back leg has a semi-torn knee muscle. It's probably from having to compensate for the other leg in back. :>(
My poor puppydog. I didn't enjoy babysitting him when my parents were gone, but I still love the guy. He's got a lot of personality and still has the heart of a puppy, not that of his middleaged peers. Georgie is 8 years old. Where did the time go?
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