He’s a BIG dog.
Ranges in weight between 90 and 100 pounds. We like to keep him at 90—but he
averages 95 most days. A few months ago, MSH changed his food. TBBB wasn’t
thrilled. He adjusted. MSH did a lot of research and truly thought it was a
positive change. He wasn’t losing weight. We thought he should be. A
couple of months ago, I talked MSH into taking him to our Vet for a thyroid
test. She said it was low and put him on a med. His blood was to be re-checked
at a month. When that was done, it was now a teensy bit high. She lowered the
dosage of the meds and said to come back, again, in a month.
Meanwhile, a few things happened. TBBB chased after a
roadrunner—and when I say chased, what I really mean is he took off like a NASCAR race
car—full speed ahead. We’d never seen him run so fast. Halfway to reaching said
bird, his hips and back legs literally collapsed on him. He was VERY slow and sore for several days. He
did seem to recover.
This happened two more times—chasing country critters. (By the Way: TBBB never, ever reaches what he's chasing. Never.) He
went after a squirrel a couple of weeks ago and then a fox—a big, grey fox that
was running up our hill to the back of our place—which is thick, thick
woods—last week. (It’s unusual to see a fox so close to our home and at 4:00 o’clock p.m. MSH usually believes it’s a
sign of illness or confusion. Or outright arrogance.) Both of these high-speed
chases caused TBBB to get sore—not as bad as the roadrunner incident—but
still a little sore.
MSH started believing TBBB had something seriously wrong
with him around the time of the roadrunner incident. Right before he was placed
on the thyroid meds. I wasn’t seeing what he was seeing—TBBB seemed okay to me.
I was chalking it all up to aging. He’s almost 63! I’m 62 and I can’t walk
worth a dern.
Then, late Sunday afternoon, MSH called me into our bedroom. TBBB was
lying in front of our French doors that go out to our front porch. He was
trembling. Seemed sick at his stomach. Couldn’t get up to a sitting or standing
position. We both got tears in our eyes as I asked MSH if he wanted me to call
our Vet. He said he was afraid she might want to keep him overnight and he
didn’t want TBBB to be alone.
TBBB was all over our bedroom all night long. Like he couldn’t
get comfortable. Monday morning, he could barely make it up our (STEEP) hill on
his ritual daily walk with MSH. We were going to call our Vet before the walk.
Now we knew it needed to be done as soon as they opened.
We took him in to our PRECIOUS/SMART/WISE/KIND Vet (There
are three Vets at this Clinic—two are a wife and husband who own the
practice and we cherish them. The third Vet, TBBB’s unofficial official doctor—is the loveliest young
woman we would be proud to call our daughter.) After examining TBBB and asking us a lot of
questions, she thought the best plan was to try out some more meds—change his
dogfood—and monitor him for a few more weeks. She was leaning towards
arthritis—possibly the beginning of hip dysplasia, which is very common in Labs.
TBBB now has his own Meds' Box.
In fact, he currently takes more meds that MSH and I—put together.
Sheesh.
(I suggested MSH put TBBB's Meds' Box with his—in our bathroom. MSH
responded he was afraid he might get confused and take TBBB’s pills! It’s in our Utility
Room—where TBBB dines and has his water. We'll see how this works. Out of sight and all...)
The good news? We believe TBBB’s going to improve and we
reconfirmed how much we need our Sweet Doc Tayden!
I’ve also failed—I think—to share a new member of our family
with Y’all. Hunter the Cat!!! (In this picture he’s reading a note Little
Leighton, aka LL aka Biscuit, wrote to him. Winky. Wink.)
We’ve had him for almost a month. We adopted him from the Humane
Society. (They said they thought he’s 2 years old. We don’t think that’s even
remotely possible. We’re saying he’s just a year old...making his birthday in April.
He is delighted his birthstone is a diamond.) He's a pistol and we are HAPPY. (I guess I never made much out
of the fact we lost our cat, Morty, last summer. It’s a semi-long story and, to
this second, it upsets me to tell it. Upsets me in a major way. Someday
I might share our sadness. Can’t tonight. Thank you for understanding.)
MSH didn’t want to get another cat to replace Morty. His
heart wasn’t in it. However, these dadgum country mice are taking over our
Barn! We decided we had to find another one to keep them in check. I named him
Hunter—because his job is to HUNT DOWN and dispose of all mice he
comes in contact with. In exchange for this honorable work, he gets a lovely
home with a warm (or cool—as the temperature dictates) bed on which to lay his wittle head. Good food. Fresh water and kitty litter every day. Lots of hugs
and attention!
Biscuit met him weekend before this past one. She was in
Kitty Heaven! He has really sharp claws. We have to watch him like a hawk with
her. She’ll be careful and can't wait to entertain him when she’s here.
This third picture was taken by MSH last Thursday evening. I
was at TLC’s casa. He, Hunter and TBBB were sitting over on the porch at our Barn
Apartment—rockin’ and watchin’ for wayward foxes, squirrels and/or roadrunners.
(That’s MSH’s knee—teeheehee!!!)
The Circle of Life can be tough, Friends. Out here In The
Wild, we respect all creatures—great and small. We pray for TBBB’s healing and
for Hunter’s success and long life with us! (We also hope Hunter gets plenty o’
nasty mice. Sorry. They are icky.)
Have a Wonderful Week, Sillies.
smooch…
p.s.: Thank you, Sunny Darling...(She is the Office Manager for Our Vets and she puts up with phone calls and texts from moi before and after Office Hours too, TOO often...I love you!)
