Mr. Buddy Rose the Pit Bull Part XII

(Parts I-XI are posted below. If you would like to read Buddy's story in chronological order please scroll down and start with Part I.)

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Mr. Buddy Rose had his last Prednisone a week ago Friday. It's now been over a week without this steroid which finally got him up from crawling to walking. He is still walking on all four paws. Without the steroid, he seems to be a much calmer, more laid-back dog. He doesn't eat as much or drink as much water. Although it may be bad to write here, he is surely not as flatulent as he was while taking the Prednisone. Mercy, there were times he could make you want a gas mask. Sometimes he seems to have one leg (it could be any of his four) that trembles or twitches, other than this, he seems to be a healthy, happy Pit Bull.

I say he is happy and for the most part I believe he is. What I never knew is just how whiny, big ole Pit Bulls can be. He can whine and cry like a baby when he is not happy. We still have to keep him and the most evil cat, Lucky Charm, separated. At night, Buddy still sleeps in our small bathroom. This is the only time Lucky Charm has free run of the house unless Buddy and I are out for a walk. Usually when you tell Buddy, "It's 'night-night' time." He will get up and slowly amble toward the little bathroom. When he gets there he plops down on his bed with a little sigh.

The last three nights, he has really not wanted to go to "night-night." He doesn't want to go into the bathroom. When "night-night" is mentioned his big head pops up and he gets this look in his eyes. I can't describe the look, except to say, it's a look I remember from when he crawled and I would go to him to pick him up to take him out. Maybe he's scared. He'll get up, but instead of heading toward the bathroom, he might try to to go toward the little doggy door and stick his head through it, or he might go to stand by the door to the garage, or the front door, but he doesn't want to go anywhere near that bathroom door. With a little coaxing, we can usually get him to go into the bathroom and lie down.

Within a few minutes of closing the door, Mr. Rose starts to whine and then to cry. It starts with a little high-pitched whining which turns into a higher pitched cry. One night, when he had had a very busy, tiring day, within five minutes or so of crying, he suddenly was quiet. I figure he cried himself to sleep. Last night after he had cried and whined for twenty minutes, he started to bark. *WOOF* *WOOF* *WOOF*. Then he went back to crying. I couldn't stand it so I got up, caught the cat and locked her back in the bedroom, and let Buddy out. I sat down on the couch to read. Buddy found a squeaky stuffed animal toy and shook it to death. After he finished killing his toy, he laid down at my feet and within what seemed like a few seconds, he started to snore. I let him snore there for about 30 minutes, then I did what all owners of spoiled pets do. I went to the kitchen and pinched off a fourth of a hot dog. I brought it to where he was sleeping and waved it in front of his nose and said, "Buddy, let's go night-night."

He followed that piece of hot dog in my hand to his bed and "sat" like he is supposed to when he gets a treat. I gave him the hot dog, kissed him on the black spot on the top of his head, told him good-night, exited and closed the bathroom door. Mr. Rose didn't make a sound for the rest of the night. Today, I went out and bought a couple of packages of Kosher hot dogs. I'll gladly trade him a little piece of hot dog to not have him cry and whine so unhappily.

I must admit, his crying one night wasn't all his fault. After he walked to the bathroom wagging his tail, laid down and I closed the door to the bathroom, I released the cat from the bedroom. What did the most evil kitty do? Walked right up to the bathroom door, stuck her head down to the crack under the door and let out the biggest, meanest cat hiss you can imagine. Mr. Rose didn't like this at all. Two things really motivate Buddy, food and cats. When the cat hissed, Buddy started barking that big ear-piercing *WOOF* *WOOF* *WOOF*. After kicking the cat back to the bedroom and locking her away from the rest of the house. (Okay, I didn't really kick the cat, although I likely thought about it. I gently picked her up and stroked her saying "good kitty, good kitty" mainly because I value all of my limbs and fingers.) With Buddy still going *WOOF* *WOOF* *WOOF*, I opened the bathroom door and out Mr. Rose ran, searching high and low, in every corner, under every chair, behind every piece of furniture, looking for that cat. I don't blame him, it sort made me mad too. Buddy's such a sweet, goofy dog and here comes that mean cat who we have been trying to protect from Buddy's massive jaws, and the cat just walks right up and hisses under the crack of the door. It was funny later, but it was not funny when it happened. That night it took an hour for Mr. Rose to settle down.

For the most part, I walk Buddy and Mollie separately. They are really just too much for me to control together. From my front door to the far corner of the park a few blocks from my house, the distance is one-half mile. Twice a day, every day, morning and evening, I walk Buddy to the park, then bring him home and then walk Mollie to the park, and bring her home. It's the whole "a good dog is a tired dog and a tired dog is a good dog" thing. Although he still pulls a lot, Buddy has gotten much better on a leash, unless he sees a cat. After walking Buddy, walking Mollie is a cakewalk.

Occasionally, when the Colonel is not at home, I do walk Mollie and Buddy to the park together. I hate to leave either of them at home alone, so I take them both. When I leash up both dogs at the same time, before I open the door, it's as if they know they both get to go and they are really excited. I wait on them to calm down before opening the door. I open the door and all three of us move to the front porch, where I once again wait on them to get very calm. When I step off the porch in front of them, the chaos starts. They both start barking. Mollie and her high-pitched Schnauzer "ROO" "ROO" "ROO" and Buddy with his deep *WOOF* *WOOF* *WOOF*. There is no sneaking out our front door for a walk when taking both dogs. I believe our neighbors always know when Buddy and Mollie take me for a walk together.

So, with Buddy hopping like a little pony and Mollie hopping like a bunny rabbit, both barking, we start our walk. Spectacle doesn't even begin to describe it. Once they have pulled me all the way to the park, they both have to go about their business, of doing their business. Attached to both of their leashes are appropriately sized poop bags inside little plastic fire hydrants. I don't know why both dogs have to poop at the same time. My life walking both dogs would be so much easier if one would do their business, let me clean it up, take the little bag to the trash can and then the other one could poop. But that never happens when they are together. I must be content with two leashes, two unruly dogs and two bags filled with poop as I try to drag them both to the closest garbage can.

The two little fire hydrant poop bag containers attached to their leashes are usually no problem. The problem happens when you have two dogs going in two different directions, while you try to use your hand, trapped in a plastic poop bag, to pick up two piles of their waste. One pile is MUCH bigger than the other pile. And when Buddy was on Prednisone, let's just say his poop was more of a soft puddle. One day, what I didn't realize was that when I went to pick up Buddy's loose stool, one of these little fire hydrants must have dragged through the nasty stuff. By the time I had cleaned up both piles, I had dog poop smeared across the front of my shorts, my shirt and my leg. It was nasty. I was disgusted. Since we were at the park, I still had to be walked home by Buddy and Mollie. All I could do was pray I didn't run into any of my neighbors on my walk home.

Buddy has an appointment on Friday for an evaluation with the vet and to get his rabies vaccination. This vaccination will bring all of his shots up-to-date. Due to steroids weakening the immune system and the fact that we weren't sure Buddy was going to stay on all four paws, the vet wants Buddy to be completely off steroids for at least two weeks before he considers neutering him. Foregoing anything bad happening, this should be Buddy's last medical procedure for a while.

Since Buddy has been off steroids for more than a week and he is still walking, the Colonel and I have talked a lot about what might have been wrong with him. I believe we both have come to the same conclusion. If Buddy had a spinal tumor, stenosis, or an infection, he would have already gone back to crawling because his walking issues would probably have already re-occurred without the steroid. We think he was probably hit with something, maybe even the tire iron we were told about in May. If this is the case, the steroid, good care, food, water and love have helped him recover from his injuries. We don't know. We will likely never know what really happened to him.