Ozzie's Story, pt. 3; Recovery

As of today, we are one month out from Ozzie's surgery to correct his Osteochondrosis (OCD). Pardon me while I do a happy dance. His surgery itself was a perfect success, and so far the recovery is going very well. However, "well" does not equate to "easy" in this situation. Still, we prepared and were able to put certain measures in place to help make things a little less cumbersome, and I am so glad we had the foresight we did. Our surgeon has also been accessible and fantastic in working with us to find solutions to accommodate Ozzie's personality while keeping his recovery on track. One of my beliefs that goes hand in hand with my cardinal rule of Know Thy Dog is using professionals (vets, trainers, etc.) that will work with you to meet your dog's specific needs, rather than squeezing you into a one-size-fits-all solution.

He looks so innocent, doesn't he?

I knew from the beginning recovery was going to be a challenge. During the procedure, the surgeon removed the cartilage flaps in Ozzie's shoulders and ground down the lesions on his bones to get rid of the decalcified, unhealthy areas. This meant that not only would Ozzie have to heal from the surgery itself, but his body also had to repair the once-defective areas. OCD occurs when there is an inadequate blood supply to the top of the bone. Consequently, that area is only fed by joint fluid. The bone starts to deteriorate and decalcify. In an effort to protect the bone, the body produces cartilage flaps, but unfortunately they just make things more uncomfortable. By grinding down the defective bone area to the healthy bone, blood flow is restored. Little clots form, and from there the bone is able to regrow and repair itself. Healthy cartilage then forms, and voila, problem solved. As I mentioned before, there is an increased chance of osteoarthritis, and we have to be careful to limit high impact activity, but Ozzie is no longer lame and in constant pain.

Because his body has so much rebuilding to do, being meticulous in the management of his recovery is imperative. His shoulders need to be given the opportunity to regenerate in a healthy way. If they aren't able to do that, we would basically be back at square zero. No pressure, right?

Funny to think something sooo little can cause soooo much work!

Ozzie's recovery has a few stages, broken into two two-week blocks and one four-week block. I'm calling this last one the Home Stretch! That's a total of eight weeks, assuming everything goes according to plan. As the surgeon said, "I take care of the technical part, but the hard part really falls on you." It is incredibly intimidating initially, but now that we're halfway through, I can say it's ultimately very doable.

Weeks 1 and 2 Ozzie was on bed rest. He could be taken out to do his business, but that was the only activity allowed. Running, jumping, and basically all of his favorite activities are completely forbidden. We also had to limit his propensity for doing burnouts on the hardwood floors. Steven carried Oz from his crate to the grass and back when he was home, but I had to settle for walking him through the house, carrying him down the steps, the carrying him back up the steps and walking him back to his crate. Fifty pounds of wriggly muscle covered by loose puppy skin was too much for me handle other than for short periods. Ozzie had to wear his cone of shame whenever he was unsupervised. We found that it stressed him out too much to take it on and off, so we ended up just leaving it on him. We iced his shoulders 3 or 4 times a day for the first few days, and we were able to remove his bandages on the third day. Fortunately, during this period he was also on painkillers as well as an anti-anxiety medication, which kept him fairly mellow. Unfortunately, he was still too excitable to do one of his physical therapy exercises without injuring him.

Aerial view of Ozzie's haircut. I call it a Halfsies Backhawk.

Weeks 3 and 4 we graduated to letting him walk through the house every time he went out, allowing him to walk up and down the ramp we built from the back porch, and taking him for short leash walks around the back yard. He was able to come off of his pain medication and anti-inflammatory medications; for the first time since a week after bringing him home, he was off of Rimadyl! At the recheck he got his stitches out, and again I thanked my lucky stars that we went the arthroscopic route  because the healing was so quick and easy. We also were able to teach him a puppy push-up to get his extension movement we were lacking in his exercises. A puppy push-up is a great way to build muscle, stability, and flexibility for all dogs, not just those recovering from surgery! And it's super easy. Have your dog sit. Have your dog lay down. Have him sit again. That's it, easy peasy! We first learned about them when working on initial training with Brugge and trying to wear her out.

In this last phase, weeks 5 through 8, we're increasing his leash walks gradually up to 20 minutes, increasing the amount of puppy pushups, and reintroducing steps and steep inclines. In one month's time he should be back to doing everything a normal dog would do, just on-leash. At his final recheck, we will hopefully gain permission to finally "cut the cord" and let him do whatever he wants! We'll still have to gradually increase his activity and not let him overdo it at first, but he will hopefully be in the clear as far as disrupting his healed shoulders!

We all can't wait for more of this!!!

Like I said, it hasn't been easy, but this process has been 100% worth it. Two months of having to problem solve and work hard is nothing compared to a lifetime of comfort for Oz. I would even venture to say that it has been helpful in some ways. I've been forced to become more patient, which is one of my biggest flaws. Our household is on a great routine that was set up when we were giving Ozzie pills four times a day at specific times for those first two weeks.

Now you know the general guidelines for Ozzie's recovery, but I mentioned we had taken measures to make his recovery easier prior to his surgery. We all know I'm a little long-winded, so I'm wrapping it up here. I'll reveal my methods for preparing him for as smooth a recovery as possible, as well as things I wish I'd done in advance, in my next post!

Ozzie's Story, pt. 2; The other kind of OCD

Alternate name for this post: "Why can't you adopt a healthy dog?!"

Ozzie at the vet.

So, in the first part of his story, I mentioned that things with Ozzie got interesting after he recovered from his URI. I had noticed him limping from the day I brought him home from the shelter as a foster. I figured in his puppy enthusiasm he may have jumped and sprained something, and the limp wasn't bad, so after checking with the foster coordinator I decided to wait until his Upper Respiratory Infection recheck to get him checked out by the shelter vet. At that time, they noticed the limp, but like me thought it was just a strain or sprain. The vet prescribed Rimadyl (a common NSAID for dogs, much like ibuprofen for humans) and rest, and to come back in a week if it hadn't improved. Again, we diligently ascribed to the doctor's orders, but the limp remained. At the next check we left with another Rx for Rimadyl, and another order to give him time and rest. The next step would be to sedate him for an x-ray, and probably have him neutered at the same time.

I have an enormous amount of respect for the vet and staff at the shelter, but I decided I was too impatient to wait. We had already been considering making Ozzie a permanent member of our family, so I brought him to my vet. She and her staff are saints, and after 23 tries (and some excited weeing from Ozzie, sigh) they were able to get some good images without sedation. She was also able to pinpoint the source of his pain; both of his shoulders, the left a little worse than the right. The X-rays confirmed her suspicion; Ozzie had OCD.

"OCD?" you say, "But isn't that a brain thing?" Well, yes. I think it's safe to say most people are at least a little familiar with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and while dogs can suffer from that as well (especially certain breeds, such as bull terriers), this was the other kind of OCD. Ozzie had been dealing with Osteochondrosis. In layman's terms, Osteochondrosis (OCD) is a condition where a lesion forms on the top of the leg bone that intersects in the shoulder joint. In technical terms, that area of bone is the humeral head. To compensate, the body forms a cartilage flap over the lesion, which can grow quite large and cause pain with movement. Ozzie had lesions on both sides, with the left looking worse than the right.

Where the arrow is pointing, you may be able to detect a small divot where it looks like the bone should be rounded but instead dips inward. 

OCD has a few causes that can either work together or alone to cause the defect. The primary culprits are genetics, poor nutrition, and too much exercise. By poor nutrition, I don't necessarily mean low quality food, but certain foods are not recommended for puppies because they can cause rapid growth. OCD usually begins around a period of rapid growth, so it is thought those factors could be linked. Since Oz is a pound puppy, we can't know what caused his OCD for sure, but he does have a couple risk factors. OCD tends to affect large and giant breed dogs, and males are more at-risk than females. We're not sure what breeds make up his background, but at about 50 lbs. at 8 to 10 months, it's safe to say he's a large breed boy.

So, of course my next question was, "OK, what now?" Given that we had done the limited activity and anti-inflammatory drug route, our only other option was surgery, and he had to have it soon. Oh boy. Now, some people might not have quite the same reaction as I do when they hear their spastic foster puppy has a major medical problem that requires an expensive surgery to fix, but at that moment, after the little voice in my head was done shrieking, I thought, "I have to have him. And I have to fix him."

My vet went over the options with me. She knows of several board-certified surgeons who would be great for the job, but she recommended arthroscopic surgery and honed in on a list of surgeons with the facilities for that kind of operation. She gave me a ballpark figure that almost made me wet myself, and promised to call around for prices. Who needs savings anyway? I'm young, I can rebuild my nest egg. Sigh. Cue the "Why can't you adopt a healthy dog?!" line from my mother.

What prompted her to say that? Well, Brugge, despite not yet reaching two years of age, has a few different health issues. That's another story for another time. My answer? They need me. I could have adopted Willem and/or Tim, who were perfectly healthy despite their rough beginning; the time when they really required special care was short-lived. I'm a bleeding heart, so I feel I must reserve space in my home for dogs that really need a higher level of care, something other people might balk at, for issues that could (and do) land dogs in shelters. I've had two vets and three trainers tell me "Brugge is so lucky she found you; most people won't deal with this." With the "this" being either her boundless energy, high level of intelligence, chronic health problems, or some combination of the three. Dealing with various health concerns of my own throughout my life and having people who never gave up on me has made me want to pay it forward. But enough about me.

The quotes came in, and I picked a surgeon at a local specialty hospital. We met for his pre-op, and I was extremely impressed. Ozzie is enthusiastic, as many puppies his age (8 to 10 months at the time) are, and the surgeon took it all in stride. He hopped up in her lap, and she just said "Well you know what happens when you hop on a vet? You get examined!" and proceeded to check out his mouth. We discussed the procedure, she drew pictures, and we went over recovery and prognosis. The good news; Ozzie was an excellent candidate for the surgery they should be successful. The bad news; recovery is very drawn-out and demanding, and he may never be a completely normal dog. With all OCD dogs, there is an increased likelihood for osteoarthritis. However, due to the placement, his should be minimal. We just need to minimize his high-impact activities. Sorry, Oz, no high jump for you!

The day he came home; note the wagging tail! He has an irrepressible happiness.

As far as recovery, that deserves it's own post! Ozzie had his surgery a few weeks ago, and I'm happy to report it was a complete success! They were able to complete the entire procedure arthroscopically and completely remove all cartilage fragments, and he's right on track with his recovery. Stay tuned for part 3! If you'd like to learn more about Osteochondrosis of the shoulder in the meantime, I recommend these links:

http://www.acvs.org/animalowners/healthconditions/smallanimaltopics/osteochondrosisoftheshoulder/

http://www.vetsurgerycentral.com/shoulder.htm

http://www.peteducation.com/article.cfm?c=2+2084&aid=464

Ozzie's Story, part 1, "The Twin"

I'm a believer that dogs choose you just as much as you choose them. I'm also a believer in fate, at least when it comes to dogs. Ozzie's arrival in our family is an illustration of those forces at work.

It started with a text from Jessica. Something to the effect of "Have you seen Demeter? He looks just like Brugge!" Jessica and I have a shared habit of trolling the county shelter's website on a daily basis. A throwback to our dogless days when we were both looking for a companion and the men in our lives hadn't quite warmed up to the idea of taking on that much responsibility. And then again when we were both looking for companions to our companions. Whatever the reason, it's a habit we can't break, and I'm not sure we want to.

I pulled up the animal list at the shelter. There he was, a 10-month-old carbon copy of our girl. Gut-wrenching. I had to go see him. Steven actually agreed to a trip up there; normally I'm forbidden for fear of an unexpected addition. Demeter had a winning personality and was sweet as honey, and indeed, very similar to our Brugge. Oh dear. But we already had Tim and Willem, we couldn't take another in as a forever dog right away. We left and hoped against hope that he would be adopted soon.

Two weeks went by and he was taken off the website. A little known fact is that can be a good or a bad thing. Our county shelter still euthanizes, as do most government shelters. It's a simple and tragic issue of numbers; too many animals, not enough resources. As I later found out first-hand, the staff do everything in their power to get these animals out of the shelter and into permanent homes or at least into their dedicated network of fosters. I called the shelter, my heart in my throat, and gave them his ID number (which I had memorized). He hadn't been adopted. He was sick with a URI. "URI" stands for "upper respiratory infection," or "kennel cough," as it's commonly known.

All dogs that come into the shelter are vaccinated, but the vaccine takes time to be effective and is hit or miss since there are so many strains of viral and bacterial causes. Our county shelter can treat the dogs for one round (assuming there's space), but many become sick a second time and face euthanasia unless they can find a foster home for the duration of their illness. It is a more forgiving policy than that of most shelters. It's a heartbreaking reality that upper respiratory infections run rampant in shelters, despite the best efforts of the staff. You know those signs that say "don't stick your fingers in cages?" Those are there for the animals' protection to help prevent the spread of disease. Our county shelter even provides gowns and gloves for visitors to wear to help protect the animals. But there's only so much that can be done around highly contagious, airbone pathogens.

I immediately signed up to be a foster. I was already fostering Tim and Willem with Pawfect, but I had my mind made up that I had to get that boy out, and I decided to take matters into my own hands. I attended a foster orientation and got to see the inner workings of the shelter. The staff and fosters are amazing people who, despite the things they see and experience ever day, have not lost their compassion and love for these animals. I cannot say enough good things about them and their efforts. I left that day with a very grateful Demeter. In retrospect, I probably wouldn't recommend rashly bringing a sick and contagious dog into your home with other fosters. I was able to quarantine him in a spare bedroom we use for a home office, and we were extremely diligent with keeping him and the other dogs separate as well as hand washing and shoe changing between visits. It was a great stroke of luck that the other dogs didn't get sick (although we had them all vaccinated).

His name had to change. "Demeter" was too much of a mouthful for me; I prefer one- to two-syllable dog names, something that can easily be called out for attention and recall. We decided to change it to Ozzie. He recovered beautifully from his URI and I committed to keeping him until he was adopted, but really at that point we had already fallen in love with him. And then things got interesting. Stay tuned for the dramatic conclusion! Hint; it has a happy ending.

Brugge and Ozzie on their first meeting post-quarantine.

Also, on an unrelated note, we've gotten an application in on Tim! Fingers crossed that this could be his forever family!

Body Mod for Dogs

Call me a teetotaler, but I don't have any tattoos or piercings. Not for lack of trying really; my ears have been pierced twice, but have a strong desire to heal so that I can't wear adorable earrings. Maybe third time will be a charm. As for tattoos, I simply cannot commit to an inscription or image for the rest of my life. The dogs, however, are a different story.

In the days before microchips, owners used to tattoo their dogs as a form of permanent identification. That's mostly fallen out of favor (it's a much more involved process than microchipping, and more painful as well). That's still not to say that tattoos have completely fallen by the wayside in pet ownership and rescue...

See that little green line? That's Brugge's tattoo. Yep, you read that right. My own dog is inked. People ask me about it all the time when we're out and about at places like the dog park, "What's that on her belly?" When I tell them the answer their facial expressions usually range from shock and derision to a grin meant to express kudos. I can't take credit for it though, she came that way when I rescued her. The shelter from which I adopted her tattoos their dogs to denote that they have been altered (altered meaning spayed or neutered). It provides an easy way to tell the animals have been "fixed" should they end up in a situation that once again lands them in a shelter. Typically, the animals get a quick line, but I have heard stories of shelter staff snapping up an animal as their own right after intake, and then requesting a shape for their tattoo, like a heart or a smiley face. Kinda cute, right?

Well, there is a less cute form of dog body modification going on around here right now. Poor little Tim landed himself in a bit of trouble on Saturday morning. See, it's not always easy to manage three dogs in cones, especially when they delight in freeing each other from the plastic and gauze (which is super fun to play tug with, by the way). Saturday morning, Steven took Brugge out for her morning walk and left Tim and Willem behind, seeing that they were still sleeping peacefully. Since I've been a wee bit sleep-deprived as of late (mostly due to factors not involving the dogs), he decided to sneak out without waking me. It was a sweet idea, and his intentions are good, but when the dogs hear the chime for the alarm system after opening an exterior door, they are at attention. I snoozed for 5 to 10 minutes before the rustle and play snarls of the boys woke me up. In that time, Willem had pulled the gauze securing the cone on Tim off, and Tim's cone had fallen off. I shot out of bed, scooped Tim up, and immediately inspected his incision.

"Uh oh." Where there had been tail ends of sutures poking out, there was now nothing. Obviously it wasn't completely devastating, because he was still held together. I waited for the vet's office Pawfect Match uses to open; mercifully, they're open on Saturdays. I explained the situation, and they told me to bring him in so they could have a look. It turned out he had completely removed his outer stitches, but his internal stitches were completely in tact (whew!). To be on the safe side, they added a surgical staple for a little insurance. It comes out after ten days, and in the meantime we are affectionately calling it his belly button ring (even though it's not really around his belly button).

So, sometimes body mod isn't such an act of rebellion. It's more like a product of an act of rebellion around here. I'm proud to report that other than the one indiscretion Tim is doing extremely well in his healing process, as is Willem. Their incisions look great, and they are their happy-go-lucky, playful selves. And, now that they're fully vaccinated and neutered, they are 100% ready for their forever homes! Could it be with you? ;)

The Most Expensive Cheap Blanket Ever.

This past weekend was just incredible. Not really in a good way, but not completely devastating either. More just in a "did all of that stuff really happen or was it a dream?" way. It was the kind of weekend where you sit back afterward and don't moan about everything that happened; instead you just say, "I'm glad that's over and I made it through... even if it was by the skin of my teeth." And, in her usual fashion, Brugge was an integral piece. She set the events of Friday and Saturday in motion.

She looks so innocent when she's sleeping.

Steven and his brother went out of town Friday afternoon to visit his dad in Tennessee for Father's Day weekend. He had been out of town when I first found TWill, so I figured a weekend alone with the dogs would be doable... maybe even "no big deal." Famous last words. Friday was nonstop. As you may have read, I was dealing with a piddle accident on a dog bed. I had also dropped Steven off at work so Eric, his brother, could pick him up from there and head out. Add to that regular dog duties and job hunting, and I had a busy day before even heading over to Phydeaux. I put the boys in their "room" (the guest bathroom), Brugge in her crate (because she still can't be trusted without a level 8 to 10 dog-proofing sweep of the house, which I did not have time for on this particular day) and headed out to meet Jessica at Phydeaux. We had both gotten 10% off coupons for participating in the SPCA of Wake County K9 3K Dog Walk earlier in the Spring, and Jess still had hers to use.

We perused everything from toys to bowls to beds to collars and leashes to toys again and finally to treats. Mickey and Florence (her two dogs... Mick is her permanent dog, and Flo is the foster that betting people would put good money on being a Foster Failure) made out like bandits. If you're a dog owner, you know the thrill of buying dog stuff. It's possibly even more intoxicating than buying kid stuff, but then again, I don't have a human kid yet. Jessica's and Eric's friend (and Eric's coworker), Charlotte had met us there too. Jess and I love introducing people to Phydeaux. It's right up there on my list of Most Fun Stores Ever, along with Target and Ikea.

Anyway, we were all going to go to dinner after, but Jess got called into work. We made plans to meet up after she got off for frozen yogurt, and Charlotte and I ate together and had a great time. Then I ran home to feed and walk "the zoo," as I call them. I was in a hurry since that whole process can take some time, but after the walk and getting everyone's food (and meds, in the case of Brugge) ready, I paused to watch them eat. I separate all the dogs, but I still supervise to make sure they all give each other space to enjoy their food.

I looked down at Brugge and noticed her stomach looked a little big. Wait, no, it kind of looked really big, but in a subtle way. Subtle enough that Steven wouldn't probably have noticed, but I certainly did. And it looked bigger on her left side than her right. I felt her stomach, and she shrank up a little as I did so, which I had learned during a bout of gastritis was a sign of pain or discomfort. She also burped when I prodded at her, which seemed to make the extra bubble on the left go down a little. "Oh no... could this be bloat?" Bloat, which can also be called (gastric) torsion or gastric dilatation-volvulus, is a life-threatening condition where the stomach fills with gas. In most cases with dogs, it is not just gastric torsion (a belly full of gas), but also gastric dilatation-volvulus, where the stomach twists as well, preventing gas from escaping. Surgery is often required, and there prognosis for a dog suffering from bloat is not usually good, but is better the quicker you catch it.

No one is certain what causes bloat, but risk factors include being a deep-chested, large breed, playing or other vigorous exercise just before or after a meal, eating only one meal a day, eating a small kibble size, and eating too quickly. Brugge is a Doberman mix, we think tempered with Lab, and Dobies are a deep-chested breed. Fortunately, Brugge's chest is deeper than usual, but not so deep as a true Dobe, so there is less risk.  Feeding meals from a puzzle toy can be a great way to curb bloat because it forces the dog to slow down (and it's good a good form of stimulation to boot, but that's a topic for another time), but I didn't have time at this particular meal. Brugge is usually a moderately paced eater. She eats all her food right away, but doesn't really inhale it. However, with the fosters around she has taken to gobbling up her food and running to watch them eat so she can lick their bowls when they're done.

Would you say that's the face of a troublemaker?

I called my standby emergency vet's office like I have seemingly hundreds of times before (including the time where she ate half of a discount club case of Clif bars where they taught me how to induce vomiting three days after we adopted her). They have usually just allayed my fears and never suggested that I bring her in unless I really wanted to. This time was different. When I explained the situation to the receptionist, she said to definitely watch her, but if it were her own dog, she would bring her in to be safe.

I was already sleep-deprived, and I seem to have been hemorrhaging money on dogs lately, so I decided first to bring Brugge to Jessica's house. She happens to live in a neighborhood literally across the street from a different 24-hour vet clinic. She also knows what Brugge looks like usually, and I trusted her to give me an accurate second opinion about Brugge's looks. Brugge was still acting completely normal (goofy, playful, had pooped normally and eaten all of her dinner with the usual gusto), or I would have brought her to the emergency clinic immediately.

When I arrived, Jessica and I let the dogs play a little (it had been well over 30 minutes since Brugge had eaten... more like an hour and a half) and took them for a walk. Brugge pooped again, but as we looked at her she definitely seemed bigger than usual, and that bubble on the left was still there, possibly even bigger than before. I called the emergency vet there and they asked me a series of questions and told me I better bring her in. Jessica, who is awesome, in case I neglected to mention that earlier, went with us. They took Brugge in the back, and we nervously waited for the doctor to come in.

When the doctor came in he introduced himself quickly but genially, and then he sat down, looked me straight in the eyes, and asked "I need to know, what has she eaten? What do you feed her? Did she get into something?" Somehow taken aback, I stutter out that she's had exactly 1 cup of food, twice that day (I ALWAYS measure), 4 mini dog biscuits, and a little bit of rawhide just recently at Jessica's when she commandeered one of Mickey's bones. Sometimes being anal retentive has its advantages. "Well, I ask because her stomach is completely full. I did an X-ray because the first thing I thought of was gastric dilatation-volvulus, but it turned out that the distention you're seeing is because she is just so full." Jessica and I looked at each other, shocked. I rummaged around in my brain for anything she possibly could have eaten. I explained that I watch her like an infant because I know her potential to get into things. The vet said he would give her something to induce vomiting, and be back in a minute. He paused, "...Would you like to see what comes up?" I nodded vigorously before realizing that it was little weird to be that enthusiastic. Oh well, it's what happens when yucky stuff never really bothered you to begin with, plus you have a dog that's had intermittent stomach problems from the get go.

After the doctor walked out, Jessica and I theorized about the cause of Brugge's predicament. Did she eat kitty litter at Jess' house? No. Dog or cat food? no. We came up with nothing. The doctor returned with a dog bowl lined with a trash bag in one had, and a tongue depressor in the other. Everything looked normal at first... there was just a lot of it. Dog food, a wee bit of grass, the rawhide, what I thought was a calf ear... Then we spotted it. A triangular strip of fabric, 2.5" by 1" at its biggest. I recognized it immediately. "That's the corner of one of the fosters' blankets!" Sneaky Brugge just loved fleece as a puppy and tried to eat it, but I thought she had outgrown it. Then, when the fosters and their $3 blankets from Big Lots I got for them came along, her old habits resurfaced. I had caught her chewing on it earlier and taken it away immediately, the gnawed off portion escaping my notice.

Tim's best Zoolander impression in front of the offending blanket.

The vet went on to explain was that the wee bit of blanket had likely been blocking her stomach from emptying. He said it was a good thing I had noticed her problem, because had it gone on much longer she could have had a full-on obstruction, or the liquid could have drained from her stomach, causing the remaining contents to solidify into a brick. Both other outcomes would have required major surgery. The doctor gave me a special food for the next day in case her stomach was still upset and also a few pills to calm things back down, along with a list of anything to look out for, but he was optimistic that there was just one offending piece, and she was good as new. He repeated, "You really DO have to watch her like an infant, don't you?" in both a light-hearted and sympathetic manner. At least he wasn't judging me! I love it when a vet understands dogs can be crafty.

At checkout it dawned on me. The calf's ear. The blanket. I had taken the blanket away the day before. I had given Brugge the calf's ear the day before too. That's why there was SO much in her stomach! It had been accumulating for at least a day and a half! Good grief. I paid my $300 vet bill and headed out. And that, my friends, is the story of how a $3 fleece blanket from Big Lots ended up costing me $303. Hopefully Brugge's health insurance will cover it. I invested in it the day after she ran face-first into a picnic table and split a good chunk of skin right under her eye open. That dog just loves to keep me on my toes!