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"He
has mats the size of golf balls behind both his ears, smaller mats all
over, and a few small golf ball size mats on his back. He also has fleas,
two lame legs and is way too skinny. It's sad. But here we are at the
vet's to see what's wrong and get it fixed. We'll x-ray his legs and they
will heal. I will bring home an extra quart of chicken from my restaurant
every night and let him stuff his little face until he starts to get fat.
I'll clip his matts, bathe him, and brush him, and love him till his eyes
are as shiny as his coat. Oliver will recover.
Wrong! The
vet layed out his x-rays. I had pushed a little to get them done. I didn't
want him to wait until Monday, despite the fact that the vet had another
patient waiting. To my surprise, he gave in. So now I stood staring while
the vet explained Olivers injuries. The back left tibia had sustained
a spiral fracture. Not a nice clean break, but the result you might get
if you took a knife and cut, sloppily, diagonally, down into the bone.
The two weeks oliver has been at the shelter, it had started to heal,
completely malaligned. His right front elbow had 'broken off'. The elbow
is where the tricep muscle connects so you can extend your arm. It is
the ONLY muscle that does this, and the piece of bone that the muscle
had been attached to had broken off. I saw his pelvis for myself. The
left side was self explanatory. 'See all those little tiny bits,' asked
the vet?
The bottom
line? An orthopedic surgeon. A very good one. After all, he's had two
weeks for everything to heal the wrong way. The leg will have to be re-broken
and re-set. The estimate is in the high thousands. I didn't forget to
thank the vet on the way out, and I offered to go thank the woman who
had been waiting for upwards of thirty five minutes. I stuck my head in
the door to thank her and explain about Oliver's condition, and, to my
horror, as I recounted his injuries, I felt my eyes start to fill. I willed
myself to stop, but the woman, seeing me upset had started to get teary
too, and this only made it worse. I went outside to where my husband was
waiting impatiently, Oliver on his lap. He looked up at me and his tail
started to wag ferociously. I could only hug him, hiding my tears in his
coat and say "poor dog.... poor, poor, good, dog." Well, we'll see how
it goes. I'm going to call the surgeon on Monday and beg him to do the
surgery for free. ;-) When he refuses, we'll find another way. (I'm feeling
optomistic.) In the mean time, keep your paws crossed for Oliver and his
disgustingly blubbery foster mom."
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