Almost immediately before our vacation in October, our dog Oscar got injured. He was running up and down our neighbor's yard, in a fit of glee and joy (probably because he was happy we were leaving him with her). Suddenly, he yelped. When he returned home, he had difficulty walking.
I took him to the vet the next morning, as he had not improved overnight. In typical Bermuda fashion, he was diagnosed with something that bore no relation to what the actual problem was. But, we convinced ourselves that the vet was right, and agreed, it must have been his swollen anal glands. Limping dog? Obviously, it's his ass that's the problem. I often say that about myself when I limp home after a long run.
"I'd be such a better runner, if it wasn't for my ass!"
While we were in the U.S, our neighbor cared for him diligently; and even took him back to the vet for x-rays and another examination. Thanks Jane! I know how much you did for him while we were away. Oscar has been eyeing your driveway fondly for days now, and we'll have to stop by. On a leash this time.
When I returned, it was clear that the issue had nothing to do with his butt, and everything to do with his leg. So, back to the vet he went. This time, his limp was sufficiently obvious that the vet diagnosed him with a knee injury.
Fast forward to last night - Oscar returns from his forced medical spa day. A few stitches later, and four adjustments to his knee, and the vet promises me he will be walking normally again in a few weeks.
At the park today, Oscar did not look too convinced. But we had a long chat, and I encouraged him to take a few gentle steps on it.
I reminded him that the vet was very pleased with the weight he has lost since I put him on a "no-treat" diet. In fact, the vet was quite impressed with Oscar's weight loss (and it only took a week and a half!) So, while I remain unable to lose my last ten vanity pounds, I am apparently quite good at depriving others of their treats and getting them to look svelte.
Oscar and I are going to continue to work hard on his physical therapy and diet in the meantime... at least till Thanksgiving.
Cue the following (minus the trip to Philly, God-awful grey sweatsuit, 70's headbands, leaping over park benches, running up stairs, or being chased by a pack of rug rats):