Oh, my poor little doggy. How I miss him. And how I hope he gets better.
Let's start off at the beginning. The very beginning. In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. Not that beginning. A little later than that. It was January of 2002. I'd just bought the house with a friend of mine, and it was time for my dream to come true. Not owning a house; that was never in question. But my dream of owning a dog. I'd had to leave them all behind when I left for college, and after one failed attempt in college to get one, I decided to wait until I had a house. And a yard. So, there I was, clicking through the pages of Lost Dog Rescue, when I came across Ozzy. No, not Ozzy Osbourne. Though I wouldn't have been surprised to see him there. But Ozzy, my dog. I really only noticed him because of his name, but that was enough in the end.
Lost Dog Rescue brings many of the dogs they're taking care of to a local pet store and lets potential owners play with them. Well, my friend, Katie, and my roommate, Vince, and his girlfriend, Christy, went to check them out. They were all so cute. The dogs, not my friends. Well, they were cute, too. Anyway, the dogs were great, and several fell into my "runner" requirement, including Ozzy. Ozzy had been found roaming the streets with a shock collar on, no tags. He probably, being his normal spaztic self, broke through the invisible fence and took off. Then, when he couldn't get back in (he can be a wimp), roamed around till he was picked up. He gets lost easily. Anyway, we took each dog for a walk, and I used Katie as a judge. She always wanted to be a vet anyway, and she's even taking care of Ozzy now while I'm here in England. I narrowed it down to three dogs, Ozzy being one of them, albeit the shyest and most timid. Vince didn't think he would work out. Katie did. I was on the fence, but Katie's opinion and his name won out in the end. And we took the little guy home.
Later that day, Christy, brought Scout home. Having been inspired by Ozzy, she decided to snatch up little Scout. Now there is one naughty dog. But smart. Ozzy had been home for a few hours so, feeling like he owned the place, he tore into Scout when she tried to take his toy, even drawing some blood. So much for Ozzy being timid. He just hides his claws, that's all. Although to be honest, after he realized Scout might be the only tail he sees in a long time, the tide quickly turned. Now he's whipped. But I'd still stand behind my dog in a fight any day.
Things went so well after that. Ozzy blossomed, and he was so eager to please. And so cute. Everyone loved him, including me. I took him running. Katie took him running. Even Vince took him running. He loved every minute of it. He didn't even mind that much when I was forced to leave him with Katie when I went to Colorado, or Austin, or England.
Speaking of England, just a few weeks before I shipped out to England, Ozzy started limping. Nothing major, but enough that we put him under house arrest. No playing. And no running. Oh, you can imagine how much that grated on Spaz-boy. But he endured it. And he seemed to be getting better. But then he just got worse, for apparently no reason. So we called the vet and she said that it could be a sprain, or it could be ligament damage, or even Lyme Disease, and that I might want to bring him in for a check-up.
Of course, the day I bring him in he appears fine. Little bastard. And she (Dr. House) can't seem to find anything seriously wrong with him, either. So we do the Lyme Disease test, and give him some drugs. He tested negative for Lyme Disease, and everything appeared to be working, until we took him off the drugs. He went lame again. Again I took him in to see Dr. House. This time she found out which paw hurt. It was apparently his ankle. "Seems like a sprain, " she said. So we put him back on the steroids, plus some other drugs. And he seemed to get better, except he wasn't eating anymore. And then he started puking. So we took him off the second drug, and he got better. Until we tried to ween him off the steroids again. Man, was this confusing.
By this time I had to leave for England, so I left everything in Katie's able hands. Her and Dr. House tried a series of tests to see the effect of the steroids. Every time they took him off the drug, or tried to reduce the dosage, he'd come up lame. Then suddenly, he wouldn't eat, he'd drink like a racehourse, and Katie found "sores" on his face and gums. All signs of Lupus. Lupus can, and does, occur in dogs. And it is often fatal, if not caught early enough. Sometimes even then. Imagine how terrible I felt for leaving him in the middle of all this.
Well, he was put back on the steroids. The sores went away, and he stopped limping. The tests for Lupus came back negative. All good things, but we were back to square one. We didn't know what was wrong with him. That was several weeks ago, and the trial and error with the drugs continued. And the bills added up. Now that doesn't matter to me, but it is important to note that we just eclipsed the $1000 mark. Of course, my friend, Kristen, has me beat. Ask about her cat with the bionic wee wee sometime.
So, basically we have no idea what is wrong with Ozzy, and now Katie tells me she finds this sore on his back paw. It starts out like a pimple, and overnight it's the size of a dime. And it's in a location where he couldn't have caused it himself; it had to develop naturally. Back to the vet. Dr. House knows us very well now. And Katie finally told her we weren't married. They inject poor Ozzy with some anesthetic and cut out a sample from the sore. Ouch. It's granular in nature, which apparently could indicate some sort of diseased tissue. Don't know what that means. This is nuts.
We're supposed to get those results back today. I'm waiting eagerly for the email from Katie. Then maybe we'll know something. More than likely, we'll remain in the dark, and poor Ozzy will continue his trials and tribulations. How can one little dog put up with so much, and still stay so upbeat, playful, and happy? I have to tell you: That little dog is my hero.
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