Down and out in Scrappyville

Our story seems to have begun two days ago.  As per usual when I get home (and if you recall the lead-in from the latest MWN, you know that day was machine breakdown-a-rama), Scrappy wanted to go for a walk.  But I noted he had a limp- not unusual for him.  He sleeps on my bed which is two-and-a-half feet up- which he jumps without any help (won't take it).  He pulls against his leash with the leg he's limping on; and of course, he's getting old.  So it wasn't a surprise that he might be gimpy this day.  So I decided to just go to the bark park.  Here, he met up with a pair of younger dogs that were run run run.  He wore himself out trying to keep up with the, er, young pups, but showed no real ill effects that night.  The next morning (yesterday), though, he came in from his morning bathroom trip acting strange.  Wouldn't go upstairs, wouldn't jump up on the couch or chair, and when he tried to sit, he was visibly uncomfortable, bending over when he tried.  He wouldn't lay, just kept wandering around, whining.

Now Bobby G, and probably a few of you others, know the story of our last dog, Fred.  The last day of his life scarred me in ways I cannot heal from.  When I went to go to work, he followed me to the door- which he never does- looking at me as if to say, "Help, Daddy."  I had thought he was bound up.  I told Laurie to try giving him some olive oil, and take him for a walk, which would help- but of course, this was the day it just HAD to rain ALL day.

So in this frame of mind I went to work- and with the cutter down (a long stupid other story), I was sewing on the box stitcher- a slow, boring process, perfect for sitting and worrying.  At 10, Laurie called and said he was very sore around his butt, and she was pretty upset- compounded by the fact that she had called the work # first and left a message, which my boss in the midst of every machine in the plant falling apart, forgot about.  I told her to call the vet.  She called back with a appointment time, and I lit out of work like, as my dad used to say, "a bat out of Zulu."

Yes, that's a real place.

The vet looked him over and found nothing in his stomach, colon, or any of the places I was worried about.  She had been told about the day at the hump'n'dump and theorized he overdid it.  He must have muscle pain, as there seemed to be nothing structurally wrong.  She prescribed him anti-inflammatory pills the size of VWs and asked us to call the next day.

That day is today, and Scrappy started it out about 80%.  He had gone from needing an ice cream bar to get him to go upstairs the first afternoon to refusing help and getting up on the bed himself that night to up and down with only mild hesitation this morning.  He's pretty much back to normal tonight, but doggies are masters at hiding pain until it's too late.  So we're watching him closely, but it is nice to have the old Scrappy back.

Now, if we could just convince him he's not a young pup anymore...