The Zoomies

Marty and I once read on the German Shorthaired Forum website that just before a GSP crashes from fatigue, she will happily run circles around the house, colliding into hard objects and gleefully rubbing her head against any soft surface within range: couches, rugs, people.  GSP enthusiasts call this “The Zoomies”.

We have a big time case of The Zoomies today.

On December 6^th, we were enjoying a standard Sunday afternoon at home.  I was picking up the house and Marty was hanging out downstairs, watching TV and keeping Tao and Joey content with their daily dose of love and attention.  At one point, Joey came to the top of the stairs and let out her usual “please let me outside” cry.  I did as she instructed; she did her business, ran a few laps around the yard, and came back inside.  While making a beeline back down the stairs to return to her warm spot on the couch beside Marty, she clumsily tumbled off the last stair.  Although this was typical for her (she was four months old at the time), the thud we heard when she stumbled was followed by a loud, extended yelp and then a sad whimper.  She jumped to her feet but we noticed, as she ran to Marty for comfort, that she wasn’t using her front right leg.  We were concerned, but thought “Eh, no big deal.”  We were under the impression that our perfect pup was invincible.  We had noted her robustness numerous times as she soared off the edge of the sand dunes at the golf course where we take her on runs, or passed hours at the dog park getting pummeled, nipped, and badgered by larger, more aggressive dogs.  “How could a tiny fall do any damage?” we asked each other.

Famous last words… 

Four days, four vets, and four hundred dollars later, we were standing in Dr. Cherry’s office at Shaker Veterinary Hospital in Latham.  He took one look at the x-rays that had been taken at the first vet we visited, looked us confidently in the eye and told us she had fractured a bone near the growth plate at her wrist joint and that she would need to be casted for four to six weeks.  We were grateful to finally receive this news from a doctor who expressed an authentic interest in our pup and her well being, and who appeared committed to seeing her through her healing process.  More importantly, however, we were delighted to be in the presence of a vet whose confidence in his assessment was apparent and who, in turn, gave us confidence in him.

Now, to go into the full explanation about why we were so grateful to find Dr. Cherry would be lengthy and exhausting.  However, I would like to take the opportunity to advise others, at all cost, to avoid seeking care from Dr. Loree at Normanside Veterinary Clinic in Albany, or Dr. Bowersox at Veterinary Specialties in Pattersonville. 

Dr. Loree was the first vet we visited.  Long story short: she offered us about as much information as we could have gleaned from a crappy, amateur website about canine breaks.  We were fit to be tied when she excused herself from the exam room and then returned ten minutes later carrying a veterinary textbook from which she read a passage about canine joint breaks, and then looked at our faces, which were plastered with distress and said, “So, what do you think we should do?” 

We paid $220 for her to ask US what WE should do!?!?!?

As for Dr. Bowersox – the man is a lunatic.  He is away on a power trip and isn’t catching a return flight any time soon.  We had been referred to him by the second vet, Dr. Lapos, at Parkside Veterinary Hospital (great, but pricey), who re-splinted Joey’s leg and suggested we see an orthopedic vet for more insight.  After driving an hour out to Pattersonville, and then waiting twenty five minutes to be seen, Dr. Bowersox strolled into the exam room and gruffly began to question us on the history of Joey’s injury.  He didn’t introduce himself, make eye contact with us, shake our hands, or even acknowledge Joey’s existence. And it was clear from the start that he made her nervous.  When the poor thing finally worked up the courage to approach him, she offered him a hello lick to which he responded by clamping down hard on her muzzle, pinning her to the floor, and yelling at her.   Although I wanted to walk out then and there, I was thinking:  okay, this guy has something I need; let’s grin and bear it, get a diagnosis, and then get the hell out of here.  Dr. Bowersox, however, had a whole other idea in mind:  he recognized that we were the suckers who would do whatever it takes to make our pup better again, and he informed us that he would take a look at her leg, but that he couldn’t do so until the following day --a "surgery day".  Surgery day?  What??  “Yes,” he stated, “I will not take a look at that ‘animal’ unless she’s put under.” The “animal” he was referring to who was obediently laying at his feet?!?  I kindly explained that she was a patient dog and that in the days since the injury she had dutifully undergone three veterinary exams, two rounds of xrays, and had been casted twice.  Despite my plea, it was clear that Dr. Bowersox would have nothing to do with saving us time, money, or stress to our “animal,” and he firmly restated that he refused to see her without her being “put under”.  At that, I turned to Marty and simply asked “Well, what do you think?”  As Marty opened his mouth to respond, Dr. Bowersox’s voice was all I heard:  “DON’T TALK ABOUT ME AS IF I’M NOT IN THE ROOM.  YOU CAME HERE TO GET THE OPINION OF AN EXPERT. I AM THE EXPERT - I SAY SHE NEEDS TO BE ANESTHETIZED."  Long story short, the mom in me kicked in and after telling his “administrator” (who he sent in to try to clean up his mess) that anesthetizing a dog to look at its leg is like anesthetizing a child to give it a haircut, and that we would never consider allowing Dr. Bowersox to lay another hand on Joey, we walked out of there with a headache for each of us and a bill for $100.  

…And that’s how we ended up in Dr. Cherry’s office, and came out with a pup who looked like this:

 

  

  

 

In the eight weeks that have ensued we have dutifully followed instructions that we restrict Joey’s activity level to an absolute minimum – not an easy task for a puppy, especially one who hails from a breed notorious for its boundless energy.  We have lived through the nuisance of weekly recheck visits to the vet; the hassle of wrapping a plastic bag around her leg each time she goes out to pee; putting on, and taking off, and putting back on, her E-collar numerous times a day so she doesn't chew her cast off; restraining her from giving Tao a concussion by way of a blunt blow to her head with the cast during their regular romp sessions on the dining room rug… you get the picture.  

Two weeks ago we returned to Dr. Cherry, who x-rayed her leg again and determined that she was healing well and that she was ready to transition into a soft splint, which he requested she wear for two weeks.  Last Friday we returned for our recheck and consulted with Dr. Cherry, who reported that one more week on the splint would do her well and that he would remove it when she came in to be spayed this coming Thursday. 

Ahh… we were almost finally in the clear.  We had done everything right and our precious pup would be back to new again.

But the story wouldn’t end there….

On Saturday night we noticed a funky odor emanating from her cast.  We discussed it, but attributed it to the fact that she had enjoyed a can of sardines for lunch and had likely licked the cast afterward.  By Sunday evening the stench had gone from funky to unbearable.  Marty examined the area, and noticed an abscessed, pussy sore at the top of her leg, which had been caused by the cast rubbing when she walked.  We cut the top of the cast back, cleaned the wound with rubbing alcohol, applied topical antibacterial cream, and then put ourselves to bed for the night. 

All was seemingly fine yesterday, but late last night while lazing around on the couch, we checked over the casted leg and noticed very obvious inflammation in the paw that protruded out from under the cast.  To say we freaked out would be an understatement.  Marty grabbed scissors and we cut the cast off like we were prying open a totaled car to get to an injured victim with the Jaws of Life.  Joey remained her patient self as he did so, but was eager to lick at her newly freed leg when the last of the gauze was finally pulled away.  Marty and I looked at each other, and let out a deep sigh of relief, but then looked back down at the leg only to realize that the healed leg we thought we had uncovered was instead badly bent, half the size of the other leg, and it lay there limp and lifeless.  On top of that, her paw was engorged with swelling, red, and tender to the touch.  When Joey stood to test it out, it bent backward as if double jointed and she quickly communicated that she had no desire to place an ounce of weight on it.    

 

 

 

We were helpless.  We put her in her crate to restrict her movement and Marty sat there on the floor beside her.  He, with his head in his hands; she, with her head on her blanket and her big eyes sifting from Martyn to her paw, and then back to Martyn...as if to say, "Did I do something wrong?"

Eventually we covered her with her blankets, and retreated to bed, but laid there playing out the possibilities in our heads:  Did she somehow rebreak it?  Would she require thousands of dollars worth of surgery and hydrotherapy to repair the bone and ligament? What did we do wrong?

7:00 couldn’t come fast enough.  I awoke with a stomach grumbling with nerves, and the three of us headed off to Dr. Cherry’s office looking for answers.    Excuse the cliché, but the wait in the exam room seemed to take hours.  I paced the room, my eyes welling with tears as looked at Joey's distorted left foot and imagined the scenarios.   

When Dr.Cherry walked in, his eyes widened and he gingerly examined her every which way.  Marty and I held our breaths when he finally looked up at us and spoke:  “I am concerned, but I am not worried.  I think we have a bad case of atrophied muscles here.  Go home, give her a nice warm bath, massage her swollen paw as often as you can and place warm towels on it.  The muscles will rebuild again, and it won’t be long before we’re out of the dark on this one.”

(Insert choirs of angels singing.) 

No more cast, no thousand dollar surgeries, no more covering her cast with a plastic bag each time she goes outside to pee, no more perseverating puppy who takes every opportunity to lick and bite at her cast when we’re not looking.  And, alas, the $998.50 of vet bills can now be put behind us.

As we drove home, Joey on Marty’s lap, we commented on how well she had fit in the same place during her nap on the ride from the Pennsylvania countryside she was born in to the house we brought her home to four months ago.  

 

JOEY AT TWO MONTHS

 

JOEY AT SIX MONTHS

When we got home, she walked around the front yard like it was her first day on this earth.  We brought her inside and bathed her, and I took in the smell of her clean fur.

Sometimes when I really think about it, I get sad for her and I mourn the loss of the puppyhood we all intended she have – one that was carefree, cost-free, and cast-free. 

Although most of me thinks back to December 6^th and wishes she just walked down the stairs that day and hopped back up on her dad’s lap to be pet and loved, a small portion of me knows that I love her more now because her final step down didn’t quite work out as planned.  As incredibly cheesy at it sounds, that thought kind of gives my heart “the zoomies.”