Big Dog was feeling a tad under the weather, last week. Maybe he was missing Lyla??
He bounded out of the kennel after a two-night stay, only to injure his rear leg getting in or out of our SUV. From that point on, it was downhill. One night, he bedded down on his pillow at midnight and didn't arise till six the next evening. That's a lot of hours to avoid bodily functions such as eating and relieving… not to mention that he always wanders into our room at night, giving us turns on which side of the bed he chooses. Always fair, Mambo.
Time to call "the" vet. But, "what" vet? We haven't had good luck, in this arena. One past doc actually referred to Big Baby as, "… you son-of-a-bitch…" Albeit true that he is the son of a female dog, aka "bitch," we didn't take to the reference too well. Oooh-kay, let's try visiting doc, Joe D'Abbraccio, highly recommended by Rock Ridge Kennel, whom we occasionally entrust Mambo to.
Sure, the patient whimpered as though being murdered while Doc examined him and Brother Jim assisted; but not to worry - examination was completed, shots caught up to date and diagnosis made, all in the comfort of our great room, Mambo's lake view uninhibited. A successful visit. Hmmm...
Seems that after what is fast approaching nine years of the sweet boy's existence, we've finally found a suitable match to help him along in his old age. The probable ligament tear is already healing and we're back in the business of summer. Might I add that glucosamine never hurts… remembering (link) Ike, here. I digress...
Try (link) Catskill Veterinary Services… you and (wo)man's best friend shall love 'em!!
Mambo promises.
