When I was a kid, I loved my grandpa. He stood about 8 feet tall, always wore khaki colored pants, cowboy boots, a Stetson, and, if he was dressing up, a bolo tie. He wasn't a drugstore cowboy, he was a country vet and I thought he was the greatest. When we would go visit my grandparents in their tiny, tiny town in Oklahoma, Grandpa would let me go on visits with him once in awhile. I can still remember my amazement when I saw him roll up his sleeves and put his arm inside a cow...and I mean waaaayy inside the cow. At his house, I would always check out all his really cool tools and the glass syringes with really long needles and look inside the refrigerator that was just for all his different medicines. When I got old enough, I thought I wanted to be just like him. I was going to be a vet. I eventually started reading all the James Herriott books because he symbolized my grandpa in so many ways.
Then one day I realized animals can't talk. It was one thing to treat cows and sheep, they never really seemed to care what Grandpa was doing to them, even when his arm was way up there. But I had a dog and when he was hurt and whimpering, I didn't know what was wrong with him and I felt very helpless. It bothered me that we would to take him to a vet and hope the vet could figure it all out without my dog ever saying a word to him. I decided I didn't have what it takes to deal with hurting dogs and that ended my veterinary career.
Which leads me to Jake. This past week we were walking in the park and he was being his usual nosey self. Suddenly he yelped, tucked his tail between his legs and started running off on 3 legs. He was trying his best to drag me and when I finally got him, I was sure he must have been bitten by something. We were in short grass so I didn't think it could be a snake and I didn't think ants or a bug could cause the reaction he had. Maybe he stepped on something. I looked at his paw but anytime I moved his leg, he whimpered. I kept asking him what was wrong and of course, he just whimpered. I got him home and called our wonderful vet about it and they told me to bring him right in. Abigail and I got him in the van and took off. I kept expecting his foot to swell from whatever bit him or from whatever was now lodged in his foot. If only I knew what was hurting him! The vet watched him walk, put him on the exam table and pulled and poked. I'm still fascinated by the way a vet works. Looking, checking, and zeroing in on the problem. Abigail and I kept whispering to Jake that everything was ok but I'm sure if he could have talked, Jake would have assured us that things were, in fact, not ok at all. After his exam, the vet told me that Jake had injured a ligament in his knee. What?! His knee? He showed me how everything pointed to a knee injury. Not that I didn't believe him, but I asked how a knee injury could cause this reaction and how could it happen so fast. (I think I asked that because I couldn't believe I was so far off on my own diagnosis) He said just like an athlete will suddenly start limping while running, dogs can do the same thing. Wow. I never thought of Jake as an athlete. So, 2 shots and a bottle of pills later, we left with instructions that our athlete was not to jump or run off the leash for at least a week. He's doing much better now and I'm grateful to his vet for his ability to know what's wrong with my dog by reading all the subtle signs. But I still wish Jake could tell me when something hurts.
No comments:
Post a Comment