The Toe

I spent a restless night worrying about Max and the soon-to-be loped off toe, so when the alarm went off it felt like I hadn't slept at all.  Whatever.  Insomnia is my middle name, after all.

Loaded the boys in the car at 6:45 and drove down the mountain to get Max to the vet before the 7:30 deadline.  He was not a happy camper when I took him into the hospital, leaving a very relieved Ozzy behind in the car.

Once Max was all checked in, I took Ozzy to the park for an earlier than usual morning walk.  Halfway around the soccer field, my phone rings.  My trusted vet is desperately ill and can't make it in for his surgeries, however, there is a replacement doctor, though one I don't know and have never met.  It's my call to either carry on, or call it off and reschedule.

Damn.

Removing myself from the equation, considering only my dog, there really isn't any other choice except to trust this unknown vet. I give the go-ahead, hang up and spend the rest of the walk talking things over with Ozzy.  In the end, he convinces me Max is a tough guy and all will be well.  What?  You don't talk to your critters?

So, after the walk, knowing I'll have to be hyper-vigilant for the next couple of weeks, I go grocery shopping, hit Costco, then get the Blazer serviced.  While I'm waiting for the oil change, I hear from the vet--nice, knowledgeable and very reassuring guy--who tells me Max did great and was already recovering; come at 4:00 to pick him up.

Once I got home, put the groceries away and had lunch, I worked outside for the rest of the afternoon to keep my mind off The Toe, and to pass the time. At 3:30 I tell Oz it's time to get Max.  He didn't even hesitate.  Ran like a wild man downstairs, hopping up and down to get in the car.  No question in my mind he knew exactly what I said.

After I talk to the vet, get my instructions, and pay the shoot me now bill, they finally brought Max out.  He was so not happy with me.  Totally turned his head away and wouldn't even acknowledge me even though I was holding him in my arms.  Got him into the car, where he mind-melded with Oz about his horrible experience, and I'm positive somewhere in there I was badmouthed...deeply.

So, now the fun begins. I have to monitor the poor guy's every move, he can't go on any walks, and every three days I have to take him back to the vet so they can change his dressings.  He has to wear The Dreaded Cone at night, and anytime I don't have him in my line of sight.  However, I will be getting plenty of exercise: I have to carry the big lug down two flights of stairs several times per day, and haul him back up.  It hasn't taken me long to realize that 14 days could easily seem like close to a year by the time this is over.

But, such is life with the creatures we love.  And how could I not take care of such a pitiful wee boy?  Oh, and he's forgiven me.  After I took this photo, I sat next to him on the chair and he cuddled right in.  Nothing like some loving to make a guy feel better...

...well, that and a few more of those pain meds.