Early last month, two of our dogs got out of the yard.
I’d been fishing the night before, and must not have latched the gate securely while carrying in my gear. I was outside the fence and calling back Milo and Sophie before they could leave the alley.
As Milo the White Trash Terrordog loped my way, his hips wobbled and rolled in a disconnected way that instantly chilled me.
In the car, he was so anxious — both about traveling and about this strange new gimpiness he was experiencing — that he ripped out one of his claws. Of course, I didn’t know that until I got to the vet; I just noticed fresh blood spattering the upholstery and assumed he was dying on me — visions of the “chestburster” scene from Alien, or some fast-acting poison scattered in the alley by an unthinking neighbor, filled my head.
Dear Scott,
This is so personal to my on so many levels. I have a black pittie, looks like your photo and article STILL on my desk “How Milo the White Trash Terrordog came to have his own beer’.
I had a pitt mix lived till 17! dead 4 years now. Same thing. PLEASE call me as I have valuble info for you.too much to type as I have to get outside to work (landscaper).
She was literally paralyzed, spend some serious$ on her, ’cause that’s what we do, a chirroprator saved her life, she was 9 years at the time.
Mary
LOVE your articles!