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.

Mr. Buddy Rose the Pit Bull Part XI

(Parts I-X of this story are posted below. If you would like to read Buddy's story in chronological order please scroll down to Part I below.)

Tuesday, July 6
An old children's nursery rhyme starts out, "Over the meadows and through the woods..." Well, this is not exactly where Buddy is dragging my sorry behind, but he is dragging me everywhere else. Through our neighborhood, bushes, trees, shrubbery, the park. You name it, if it's outdoors, Buddy is probably dragging me through it behind him. I have zero control over him on a leash. This morning, Buddy, Mollie and I walked to the park. Buddy finally had the chance to be introduced to a couple of mine and Mollie's dog walking friends and their four-legged companions. It was almost unbelievable. There he was in the park in the shade, Mr. Buddy Rose, on all four legs, being a real dog. It seemed like a very long time ago that walking him to the park was only a dream of sorts.

I have spent hours trying to "leash-train" Buddy. I have employed every method I know including stopping, turning around and treats, just to name a few. Buddy is too busy hunting for cats in the shrubbery to be concerned with leash training. "Stopping" - just gives him the chance to get a good sniff of the shrubbery. "Turning around"- he really doesn't care which direction we are going, as long as he can hunt cats. "Quick turns"- yea, he seems to do a little better at this and tries to pay more attention to where, I, the supposed pack leader, am going, then he smells a cat, and all hope is lost. "Treats" - Buddy can sit, stay, lay down, get the treat and go back to hunting cats. "Pack leader" - I make Mr. Buddy Rose and Ms. Mollie be calm and submissive before I open the front door. I do the same on the front porch before we start our walk. I have reigned them both down to short leashes and corrected them to the side when they pull. Mollie could really care less about cats, unless they run from her. She is very dog sensitive and pulls and yaps at every dog she sees. Buddy could care less about dogs because he is too busy hunting cats. I have so little control over the two of them together, I don't walk them together anymore unless I it's an absolute must. Now, instead of getting two walks to the park a day with Mollie. I am getting four walks to the park a day, two with Buddy and two with Mollie.

At the pet store this past week-end, on the clearance shelf I found a large size "gentle-lead" for four bucks. I thought this was a real deal and for four dollars, I couldn't pass it up. A gentle-lead is one of the different kinds of leashes and attachments I have read about to help control the uncontrollable dog on a leash. It has a regular collar with another loop attached which fits over the dog's nose. The leash attaches to the bottom of the nose loop. When the dog pulls, this pulls his head back around to face you, thus eliminating the dog's ability to pull away from you. This particular leash had a very soft covering on the nose loop. I sized it up to fit Buddy, making sure the nose loop would fit far enough back on his nose and was loose enough he could still open his mouth to pant, or bark. I was excited that my new, inexpensive tool would actually help get Buddy leash-trained.

In a nut shell, Mr. Buddy Rose hates this gentle lead. He does not like the loop over his nose. Before we got out of the front door, he was trying to claw it off with his front paws. I thought, I'll get him outside, he'll forget about it and go back to hunting cats. Not a chance. He rubbed his head on the ground trying to get it off. Actually got it off one time and I put it back on him. We made it all the way to the park, but instead of a dog pulling me down the street, this time it probably looked like I was trying to break a small horse. He bucked like a little pony. If I allowed him to stop, he would claw at his nose or rub his nose in the grass trying to remove the nose harness. By the time we got to the park, he had scraped the end and top of his nose and they were bleeding just a little. I took the "gentle lead" off of him, put it in my pocket, hooked the leash back to his collar, and went back to trying to leash-train him. Which, to say the very least, isn't working very well.

On Tuesday, we needed to call our regular vet for a follow-up on Buddy. Of course, we called and left a message and he returned our call later that afternoon. We told him how well Buddy was doing. I asked him how much exercise would be too much for Buddy. His answer was, "well, you can walk him around your yard. Whatever you feel is okay for him without putting him into a stressful situation."

I asked, "I am already walking him more than a mile and a half a day. Is this too much?"

"You're kidding. He's walking that far."

"Yes."

"And he doesn't seem to be hurting or stressed?" the vet asked.

"No, when I see him tire, we rest in the shade. Sometimes he lays down on his own in the shade to rest. He has never shown he was in any pain, so I still am not sure about that, but, I don't think walking is hurting him. He is much, much stronger than he was."

The vet decided he wanted to evaluate Buddy again. We made an appointment for the following Friday, thirty minutes after we were to drop Mollie off at the groomer to get her Schnauzer hair cut. Friday morning came, we herded the dogs into the car. Mollie onto a pillow in the back seat and Buddy in his kennel. As the Colonel took Mollie into the groomer, Buddy and I sat in the parking lot. Well, I sat and listened to *WOOF* *WOOF* *WOOF* until the Colonel returned.

It was a big day for Mr. Buddy Rose. For the first time, he actually walked into a vet's office and did not have to be carried in. I remember the first day, I carried a smelly, stinky dog into this vet's office and sat there dreaming that one day, Buddy would walk back in under his own ability.

Today was also the first positive vet visit we have had with Buddy. Again, the vet did a complete physical exam with the Colonel and I in the room. As he started the reflex tests on Buddy's legs, we could actually see reflex response. He checked his rear legs and told us that Buddy's rear leg reflex response was normal. Then he checked his front legs and told us his front leg reflex response was normal. We really had hoped for a good visit with the vet, but to find out that he had gone from almost no reflex response in all four legs to NORMAL response in all four legs was unbelievable. We were overjoyed!

One concern for us was, even with Buddy's healthy appetite, he had lost six pounds. The vet said this was due to the exercise Buddy was getting. He said Buddy might be a little on the lean side, but his weight was healthy, and as long as he was eating well, being a little on the lean side was fine. We also discussed Buddy's vaccinations. Today, Buddy received his kennel cough and the first of two triple vaccination shots which includes Parvo. In three weeks, Buddy will need the booster for the triple vaccination and his rabies shot and then his shots will be completely up-to-date. The vet cautioned us, since Buddy has never been vaccinated, we would need to watch him for the next twelve hours or so to make sure he did not have an allergic reaction to the vaccinations. The vet said to look for signs of hives or his head and tongue to swell. The Colonel and I looked at each other and started laughing right there in front of the vet. The vet just looked at us, he didn't get the joke. "So tell me, you see the huge size of Buddy's head, how are we supposed to know if his head is swelling?"

We had plans to visit the Colonel's Mom that afternoon and since we needed to make sure Buddy's head didn't swell in reaction to the vaccinations, we took him and Mollie with us. The Colonel's Mom has a big fenced grassy yard with lots of shade and Buddy, since he has been walking, has never been outside not attached to me by a leash. We figured this could be a great time for him to run around in a big yard and be safe.

If you have never been to the central valley of California, you may not know this is a very large agriculture area. If you know this is a large agricultural area, then you may not know that from February to November, it doesn't rain here. This place would literally be a desert if it were not for irrigation systems. All of those great veggies, fruits and nuts grown in the central valley must have water, if they are not irrigated to get water, then they must be watered manually.

The Colonel's Mom has several great fruit trees with irrigation trenches dug around them. You put the water hose in the trench around the tree and turn it on, then a big puddle forms around the tree in the trench. I had filled two of these trenches and was working on the third when I turned around and there was Mr. Buddy Rose standing knee deep, in muddy water taking a drink. Sometimes, you can't help but laugh at him. He's gone from crawling in the mud to standing in it. He's quite the big goofy guy.

I called him out of the muddy water, used the hose and washed the mud off of him, but this gave me an idea. Since he had a great vet visit this morning, I decided he needed a present. I went to Tru Value Hardware and spent $16 on a kiddie pool for Mr. Rose. We really had no idea what he would do when it was filled with water, but, since he seemed to like mud puddles and irrigation trenches, maybe he would be interested.

I put the little pool in the grass in a shady area and put about three inches of water in it. Mr. Buddy Rose waded through the pool a couple of times, stopping to take a cool drink. Mollie didn't wade into the pool, likely because she had just had her hair done, but she did join him in a drink from it. About the third time he waded through, he started turning around, like dogs do before they lie down. Then, he plopped right down in the cool, clean water. He didn't stay there very long, maybe a minute or so. Then he stood up, shook himself off, waded out of the pool, found a sunny area of grass and started rolling around.

Although we have had Buddy only seven weeks, we have come so very far. He has one more week of 20 mg. of Prednisone daily before we start reducing his dosage. Maybe his progress didn't quite fit our original time frame or plan. His improvement has been in small steps, but it is dramatic. So far, he has overcome every hurdle his life has thrown at him. He is healthy and strong. He can walk. He has had the first of his vaccinations. Mr. Buddy Rose is a great dog and an extraordinary animal.

Buddy Rose the Pit Bull Part X

(Parts I-IX of of this story are posted below. If you would like to read Buddy's story in chronological order, please scroll down to Part I.)

Tuesday, June 29
Every day Buddy's walking has improved. Every single day he has walked a little further. From a few steps, he has gone to a few yards, to half a block, to a block. His coordination is much better. He tires easily and has to rest often, yet he continues to go a little further each day. A leash is no longer an option, he has to wear one. He is much, much stronger. This morning he walked three blocks. Maybe I should say he drug me down the sidewalk for three blocks. We rested in the shade for a few minutes and he walked back. I can tell when he starts to tire. First, he quits dragging me around and walks like a nice doggie on a leash. Next, he starts to sort of wag his rear end back and forth, I think to keep his front legs moving forward. Sometimes he lays down on his own to rest. When I see him struggling to keep his front legs moving, we stop and rest. Since he has been up and walking, I haven't wanted to slow his forward momentum down. Now, as he pulls me down the street, I am wondering if not slowing him down was a mistake.

The more I walk him, the more I know he is hunting cats. If I would let him, he wouldn't walk on the sidewalk or in the grass next to the sidewalk, he would walk in the shrubbery in front of homes searching for cats. I really don't want to know what he would do if he actually got to a cat, but maybe this is how he spent all of his time in his old 'hood. Believing that Buddy Rose is hunting cats, I started thinking about his old neighborhood. I never saw any stray cats running loose. Stray dogs were a different story. There are lots of stray dogs, mostly Pit Bulls or Chihuahuas with a few mixes in the middle, but I don't remember ever seeing any cats. In my neighborhood, where all dogs are leashed, and rarely does a dog run loose, we have an abundant number of cats roaming the streets and int the shrubbery. Maybe dogs like Buddy Rose are the reason you rarely see cats in these parts of town. If dogs run loose in a neighborhood, cats can't survive. Maybe? Well, it's a theory.

On Thursday morning, after everyone had breakfast and both dogs had their morning "business" walk. I convinced the Colonel to go with me, Mollie and Buddy to the park a few blocks from our house. Buddy still couldn't walk that far and he had been crawling or walking in the same three block area for five weeks. He needed a change of scenery, some new grass to lie in and some different smells. We took 2 lawn chairs, an old, steel, corkscrew stake with a 20 foot chain, water for four and water bowls for two.

The ride to this park from our home can't be more than a couple of minutes. I usually walk Mollie here at least once a day, sometimes twice. I parked the car at the park next to a shady area, and turned the engine off. Engine off. Buddy on. From the crate came the loudest *WOOF* *WOOF* *WOOF* you can imagine. I think it was his happy bark. Or maybe it was his, hey, new grass, get me out of this crate bark. I don't know exactly what he was communicating, but it was really, really loud. Once out of the crate, he quit barking and went to pulling me around from tree to tree. For the first time since he had been walking, Buddy went to a tree, sniffed, lifted his leg, stood on three legs and urinated on the tree. It was a big day for Buddy Rose.

Because Buddy is now walking and rarely crawls, he is using different parts of the pads of his paws. Soon after he started walking more than just a few steps at a time, certain areas of the pads on three of his feet became raw. For a while I tried to keep him on the grass, to try to give him a chance to toughen his paws without scraping them raw. A couple of times during the first week he was walking, his pads would bleed just a little. We kept a close watch on them and after another week, his pads were healed and tough enough not to cause him any more issues. He never limped. He never showed his paws hurt him, even when one paw had raw spots and two paws were bleeding. We only realized it after he walked into our house and left a very small trail of blood.

Our regular vet had prescribed Buddy Prostoria to help with diarrhea which started about the same time as he started taking Prednisone. Prostoria is supposed to restore all of the good flora in Buddy's intestines that all of the antibiotics he took had killed. Buddy finished the Prostoria on Thursday. He finally had a more solid stool on Friday. The vet tech had said to use the Prostoria pills like treats. Buddy has a healthy appetite and loves treats but even Buddy would not eat Prostoria like a treat. Like all of the other medication he has taken, I wrapped the Prostoria in thin, chicken sandwich meat. By doing this, Buddy Rose doesn't even need to be coaxed to take his pills. The Low Residue dog food was a different story. From the vet we bought a bag of dry food and a case of canned Low Residue dog food. Buddy ate it for about a day. When he refused to eat it at his regular feeding time, we started mixing some of his regular dog food with it. When he quit eating it this way, we put more of his regular food in it. In less than a week, Buddy was back to eating his regular food and we have a supply of Low Residue dog food, just in case we ever need it. At the Taj Mahal for pets, they learn very quickly if they don't like what's in their food bowl, just don't eat it. Like magic something better will appear in their dish.

Every night since we have had Buddy we have made him a bed in our small bathroom. Now, since he is walking, we put his bed down, move his water in there, and tell him it's time to go "night-night." He walks into the bathroom and lays down on his dog bed. I give him a few good boy pats (most nights I give him a kiss on the black spot on his head too, but don't tell anyone), exit and close the door.

Every morning when I open the bathroom door, Buddy Rose runs out into our living room. He's always excited when he's first released from his "night-night" kennel. Mollie usually greets him first and they have a joint short, tail-wagging nose sniff. Most mornings on his way to the living room he stops and picks up Elvis, a hound-dog stuffed animal we use as a doorstop at our front door. He carries Elvis around in his mouth, wagging his tail as he circles the living room. His next stop, with a mouth full of Elvis is to visit the Colonel and get his morning head pats. During his morning romp around the living room with Elvis in his mouth, I am standing at the front door with his leash in my hand waiting for him to come to the door to go outside. One morning this week, after I opened the bathroom door, Mollie and Buddy nose-sniffed, Buddy picked up Elvis and carried it into the living room, I heard the Colonel say, "Well, good morning Mr. Rose." Hearing this gave me an idea.

The Fourth of July was coming, not that Buddy had ever, could ever, or would ever want to escape from our pet Taj Mahal. I knew he needed a tag with name and phone number for his collar. My next trip to the pet store Buddy got a tag for his collar. He's had such a hard life and he looks like a big tuxedo boy with a red bow tie, I figured he deserved a little respect. The tag on Buddy's collar reads, "Mr. Buddy Rose."

The steroid Mr. Buddy Rose is taking, Prednisone, has made him much, much stronger. It also makes him pant a lot, drink a lot more water and urinate a lot more often. We have read it can cause aggression in dogs or even make them a little nuts, but Buddy's demeanor has not changed. He is great with people, children and other dogs. He doesn't do well with cats. He still has two more weeks of 20 mg. daily of Prednisone before we spend four weeks slowly weaning him off of it and praying he stays on all four paws.

Buddy Rose the Pit Bull Part IX

(Parts I-VIII of this story are posted below. If you would like to read "Buddy's Story" in chronological order, please scroll down to Part I)

Sunday, June 20
For the first time in four weeks and a day, Buddy Rose started taking a few clumsy steps. He was unsteady, wobbly and unbalanced, but this was different than before when he tried to walk and fell. He was slow and deliberate. He would walk two or three feet, then lay back down and go back to crawling. When he was resting, he would stand up and turn around and lay back down, like walking dogs do, something he had never done before.

When he stood or took a few steps, his front legs trembled. I took an old harness we rarely used for Mollie and moved all the adjustments to make it as big as it could be. I hoped I could make it fit Buddy so that I could help hold him up as he walked or stood. Although it looked a little funny because the length was short on his long body, it worked and allowed me to help support him. I never used it to lift him, but if he was up, I could help support him with it. Outside, he would try to stand to urinate and both his front legs would start shaking badly. The longer he stood the worse he trembled. He would shake until he couldn't hold himself up any longer, then he would lay down to finish his business. I used the harness to help him whenever he started to tremble and shake.

He crawled more than he walked. After taking a few wobbly steps, he would lay down and crawl. Stand up again and take a few more steps and lay down. If he really wanted to move around inside and outside the house, he still mostly crawled. The second day was much the same. Although very subtle, he was improving. He really was walking. He had real trouble navigating the slick concrete floor in our garage, so we laid rugs down for him every three or four feet. He would walk to the first rug as he came in the garage and rest for 30 seconds or so. Then, with a little verbal coaxing, he would stand and walk to the next rug. Four rugs and four short breaks later and he made it in and out of the house through the garage on his own four legs. It didn't matter how long it took him to get in or out of the house, his doing it on his own was a huge break for me. Carrying his 65 pounds in and out of the house five or six times a day was hard. I was more than thrilled he could do this on his own.

For the first time, he also started to "sit" like a dog sits. He was never able to sit like this before because his front legs could not support his weight as he sat. He couldn't sit long before his front legs would start trembling and he would lay down. He could now sit down in front of me or the Colonel and put his head in our lap, another thing he was never able to do. With his head and front of his body supported by our lap, he could sit a little longer without lying down. I think we were all pretty happy with this development.

These little things may sound like small improvements, but when you have watched this beautiful dog do nothing but crawl, roll, flop, flounder and fall for more than a month, all of these really small things were monumental to us.

Buddy's test for Myasthenia Gravis was the only results he still had outstanding. All of the rest of his tests, blood work, scans, fluid tests, etc. had all come back completely normal or negative. We had been told the Myasthenia Gravis test would take a week to get the results. We had researched this canine and human disease and knew in severe cases, Prednisone was prescribed. With medication this disease is controllable and can go into remission. Most times it does recur during a dog's lifetime, but for a few dogs, the disease never recurs and the dog can stay in remission for his/her lifetime. I really hoped the test would come back positive for this disease because at least then, we would have a diagnosis. If it was not Myasthenia Gravis, I didn't know if we were really ever going to get a diagnosis for Buddy Rose.

The Colonel and I differed on opinion about all of the money spent on tests with no diagnosis. The Colonel's opinion was that all of these tests ruled out what was not wrong with Buddy. My opinion, we spent all the money and still didn't really know what was wrong with him. Yes, Prednisone had him up and becoming a little more mobile every day, but we still didn't know why he couldn't walk. One thing we both agreed on. Prednisone was doing something to get Buddy up and walking.

On Wednesday, we called both vets, our regular vet and the special Internal Medicine Vet in Dublin. Of course, both vets were out of their respective offices on Wednesday and we left messages for both to call us back when they returned to the office on Thursday.

Thursday morning, the Internal Medicine Vet returned our call first. The test for Myasthenia Gravis was negative. Buddy still didn't have a diagnosis. We told the vet, although slow, uncoordinated and clumsy, Buddy was walking a little, and improving a little more each day. Having ruled out most diseases with testing, the vet said Buddy Rose likely had a compressed disc or spinal cord issue in his neck. For whatever reason, the Prednisone was reducing the inflammation or swelling allowing him enough neurological or nerve response to walk. The vet told us he wanted to increase Buddy's Prednisone to 20 mg. daily for two weeks, then slowly we would start reducing the Prednisone and hope Buddy remained on all four paws. We told the vet, we thought the Prednisone was causing Buddy to have some diarrhea. Stating Prednisone is used to treat diarrhea in dogs, he thought it unlikely the Prednisone was causing his diarrhea. He said it was probably caused by "something he ate." He said to start giving Buddy Imodium, as much as 18 mg. a day, for the diarrhea. He said he would write the new dosage instructions for the Prednisone and fax them to our regular vet later that day.

We did give Buddy one Imodium pill, twice that day. Since Buddy is not really mobile, we don't have a back yard where he is ever crawling around, and are literally with him every moment of every day, except for the six or seven hours he is "night-night," I didn't believe it was something he ate. If it was something he ate, I really didn't want to give him Imodium because I wanted him to get it out of his system, not keep it inside of him.

Several hours later, our regular vet returned our call. This conversation went much the same as the first except our regular vet wanted to increase Buddy's dosage to 20 mg. of Prednisone daily for three weeks, instead of two. This vet said, "Prednisone really is Buddy's last chance at walking." I still believed this guy gave up on Buddy when he had referred us to the other Internal Medicine Vet. His "last chance" statement sort of just confirmed my belief. In this vet's opinion, Buddy's diarrhea was caused by all of the antibiotics Buddy had been taking. We reminded the vet, Buddy had not taken any antibiotics in eleven days. This didn't seem to matter. He thought these antibiotics had killed the "good flora" and Buddy would need some help restoring it. He wanted to put Buddy on Prostoria for seven days to restore the good stuff in his intestines and put him on special Low Residue dog food. We would need to call him in two weeks to give him an update on Buddy's progress.

One week after Buddy started taking 15 mg. of Prednisone (three 5 mg. pills) once a day, we increased his Prednisone to 20 mg. (10 mg. twice a day), added one Prostoria (good flora) pill a day and Buddy started eating Low Residue dog food. For Buddy, who always had a great appetite, the Low Residue dog food was not a hit.

Buddy Rose the Pit Bull Part VIII

(Parts I-VII of this story are posted below. If you would like to Buddy's story in chronological order, please scroll down to Part I.)

Wednesday, June 16
I opened the bathroom door and out crawled Buddy Rose, his wagging tail happily thumping the door and the bathroom cabinets on his way out. As pitiful as his crawling was, I really believed he was a happy dog, even though he couldn't walk. After yesterday, without him happily crawling out of the bathroom, this morning I was very happy to see that black and white crawling body and wagging tail. As had become the usual, he and Mollie both wagged their tails and sniffed noses.

Mollie the Mini-Schnauzer had taken the three and a half hour ride with us yesterday to pick up Buddy. She loves to ride in the car. Once we got to the vet's office, we put her on her leash. I took her to "go potty" while the Colonel had gone in to the office to settle the bill and check Buddy Rose out of the vet clinic. Then, the Colonel and I swapped places. I left Mollie in the car with the Colonel and went in to get Buddy. Once Buddy was in his crate and we were on our way back home, Mollie sat in the Colonel's lap and just stared at me. Who knows what she was really thinking, but I think she was saying, "You know, we got rid of this big lug of a dog yesterday. Last night it was just me. I like being the Queen of Taj Mahal and getting all of the attention. What the heck is he doing back in the car with us?" She sat in disbelief just staring at me for a good part of the ride home.

Although Buddy's crawling was still the same, his black and white body is a little different. He has two large shaved patches on his back from spinal taps to gain fluid samples for testing. One shaved patch is on the back of his neck and the other is on his lower back, several inches above his tail. He looked kind of funny with these two evenly-sized shaved patches. The skin on his neck was kind of polka dotted with black spots. The shaved patch above his tail used to have two streaks of white fur. Now where those white streaks were, it looked as if someone had dripped white paint over his black skin. He also had a small shaved area on one of his front paws where an IV was used to sedate him for the spinal tap procedure.

The specialist vet had taken Buddy Rose off all of the antibiotics until some of the test results came back and he had a better sense of why he couldn't walk. Once again, we were waiting for a call to let us know the test results of blood work and spinal fluid. Buddy showed no ill effects from the anesthesia. He might have felt a little better, being back in familiar surroundings and no longer taking three different antibiotics in ten pills a day.

Sometime Wednesday afternoon the vet from Dublin called and said all of the results of Buddy's tests, blood and the spinal fluid, came back completely normal. This left only one test outstanding, the test for Myasthenia Gravis. The vet said he wanted to go ahead and start Buddy now on Myasthenia Gravis medication, even without the test results. To keep us from driving back to the Bay Area to pick up the medication, this vet would call our regular vet here in town and discuss Buddy and the test results. After discussing Buddy Rose with our local vet, he would fax prescription instructions and dosage information to him. We should be able to pick up Buddy's new prescription at our local vet sometime after twelve noon tomorrow.

Thursday at noon we called our local vet and left a message concerning the Myasthenia Gravis medication for Buddy that we were supposed to pick up. At three o'clock, we called our local vet back for the same. This time the vet tech answering the phone said, I talked to the vet and he said they (regular vet & special Internal Med Vet) had not reached a consensus on what to do for Buddy. We left a message for our regular vet to call us back. When our regular vet returned the call he explained they had decided not to put Buddy on any Myasthenia Gravis medication until the test results came back. We were a little confused but, hey, we've now spent a lot of money to get really good advice from both our vets. From my vantage point, it appeared the two vets really could not agree. One wanted to do one thing, and the other didn't. The Colonel didn't feel this way. The Colonel thought our regular vet simply had not read the fax sent by the special veterinarian. The next morning, we received a call from our regular vet. They were going to put Buddy Rose on 15 mg. daily of Prednisone and the prescription was ready. We could pick it up whenever we wanted.

Thursday afternoon we started Buddy on 15 mg. a day of Prednisone. Three little white pills of 5 mg. each, given once a day. We had asked one of the vets if we were going to see improvement, how quick would we see it? The vet had answered "two or three days." We watched and waited.

Our back storm door has a small pet door installed for Mollie and mean kitty, Lucky Charm, to come and go from the house to the patio as they please. This pet door opening is 11.5 inches tall by 8.5 inches wide. Because of his crawling, Buddy's head was at just the right height to stick his nose and head out. On a few occasions when me or the cat have been on the patio, this had happened and Buddy Rose had stuck his big head through the pet door. It was enough to make you laugh out loud to see this big black and white dog head sticking out of the little pet door. He didn't whine or bark, just stuck that big old head out through the opening and craned his neck to look around.

With the exception of the day Buddy cornered our cat on the front porch, we had done a good job of keeping the cat and Buddy separated. The cat was either locked in a bedroom, or on the patio when Buddy was in the living room. When Buddy was outside, in the garage or on the patio with me, the cat had free run of the house. On Saturday, Buddy was resting in the shade on the patio with me as I trimmed some of the flowers. The Colonel, Mollie and Lucky Charm were all in the house. I'm up on a ladder with my back turned to the door when, within a split second I heard Buddy crawling toward the pet door. I yelled, "Buddy." It as too late, the last thing I saw was Buddy's rear end and tail going through the pet door. As I jumped off the ladder, I knew Buddy was after the cat. As I came in the house, the Colonel was keeping Buddy back and closing the bedroom doors.

"Did you see that?" I asked.

"What?"

"Buddy just came through the dog door," I answered.

"I thought you let him in," the Colonel said.

"Nope. I was up on the ladder. Buddy just came through the dog door."

"You're kidding, right? That door's not big enough for Buddy."

We both looked at the pet door, then at Buddy, now laying at the bedroom door wagging his tail and panting.

"No, I'm not kidding. I swear. I saw him. I didn't open the door. He let himself in."

We never dreamed 65 lb. Buddy Rose could fit anything but his head through our pet door. And, without being able to walk or jump, it almost seemed impossible. He did. He went through the pet door. I am not really sure how because all I saw was his rear end. Somehow he managed, like he always seemed to do. We would have to be more careful keeping Buddy and Lucky Charm separated. Even though the cat is the meanest and most evil kitty in the world. I really wouldn't want any harm to come to her. Well, maybe a little harm just to put her in her place. (That's really mean. I know, but this cat is REALLY mean.)

We weren't sure if Buddy's ability to navigate the pet door was an improvement or not. There had been two other occasions in the past four weeks when Buddy had performed extraordinary things when he had a cat as motivation. We wanted to see improvement, but were always scared to get our hopes up.

Sunday morning, I opened the bathroom door and out stumbled a very wobbly and uncoordinated Buddy Rose.

Buddy Rose the Pit Bull Part VII

(Parts I-VI of this story are posted below. If you would like to read these posts in chronological order, please scroll down to Part I.)

Monday, June 14
I had promised a neighbor I would let her know about Buddy's condition after our trip to the specialist vet in Dublin. I really was heartbroken because Buddy's chances of walking were getting smaller and smaller. Today, I thought Buddy's chance at survival was less than 50/50. I was so upset I could not walk across the street and discuss Buddy without giving myself some time to try and pull myself together. For three weeks we had been riding the Buddy roller coaster ride. Our ride had just hit a new low. Buddy wasn't in the floor sleeping. He wasn't crawling around on the floor wagging his tail holding a toy in his mouth. We didn't have to give him any medication. I didn't have to carry him in and out or sit outside with him until he crawled around sniffing and finished all of his toileting. I took Mollie in my arms and cried as I told her I had let Buddy down, but I would never, ever let her down. Several hours later with Mollie in tow, I visited our neighbor to let her know how the trip to the vet had gone with Buddy.

There were days in the past three weeks when I was really tired. The inside of my arms and hands didn't hurt anymore because they had become rough and hard from Buddy's coarse fur. Now, without the responsibilities of Buddy for a day or so, I could rest. Resting really wasn't in the cards for me. I was so worried about him, rest wasn't on my mind. We all have our outlets, I cleaned, did laundry and cooked. Anything to stay busy and try to keep my mind off of Buddy.

The next morning as the Colonel and I had coffee, I asked, "If the vet calls, and it's the worst news for Buddy, do we go back to Dublin and get him? Do we bring him here to have him put to sleep at our regular vet? I don't think I can let him go without at least going to see him."

"We just need to wait and see what the vet says when he calls." As I've said, the Colonel is much smarter and calmer than I am.

We waited. At about 11AM, the vet called and said he and the surgeon had observed Buddy and the surgeon did not think a CT Scan was necessary. After observation, the surgeon did not think there was a spinal issue with Buddy. The vet said Buddy might have a disease called Myasthenia Gravis and they were going to test him for this. The Myasthenia Gravis test results would not be back for a week. They were also going to give Buddy a shot in the next 30 minutes which might, fairly quickly, make him get up and walk for a very short period of time. If this shot worked, chances were good that Myasthenia Gravis was the diagnosis. Later this afternoon, they were still going to put Buddy under general anesthesia to do the spinal tap to get fluid samples from his spine to check for disease. The vet told us if Myasthenia Gravis was the diagnosis, Buddy would have it for the rest of his life, but it was treatable with medication. We thanked the vet, hung up the phone and waited again.

Thirty minutes went by very slowly. An hour passed. We wondered out loud about how Buddy had done after the shot. After everything we had been through, if Buddy had actually walked, even for a short period of time, we regretted we weren't there to see it. Sometime after 3 o'clock, we couldn't stand it any longer, we wanted to know if he had walked or not. We called the vet and left a message. Thirty minutes later, the vet returned our call.

"No, Buddy did not get up and walk after the shot. This doesn't completely rule out Myasthenia Gravis as a diagnosis. He could still have this. We won't know for sure until the test results come back in a week or so."

The vet told us how Buddy Rose had won over his staff. They absolutely loved him. He had observed Buddy on the ground, crawling, sniffing, doing his "business" and rolling in the grass. He thought Buddy was a pretty, happy, exceptional animal, too. He said Buddy had come through the spinal tap procedure and was recovering from the anesthesia. He would have most of the test results back tomorrow and would call us. And, we could come pick up Buddy Rose about 5PM and bring him home.

Even though Buddy wasn't walking, I didn't care. Buddy was coming home! I'm not sure what I was thinking. We didn't have a diagnosis. We had just dropped a load of cash we didn't have to NOT get a diagnosis. Because of traffic, we were going to have about a four hour round trip drive to go get him. I didn't care. Buddy was coming home!

We didn't want to leave Mollie home alone. She's a really good rider and would much rather be with "the pack" riding than be left at home alone with the meanest cat in the world. We packed some bottled water, a water dish for Mollie and another for Buddy and headed out to pick up Buddy and bring him home. The commute traffic wasn't bad in our direction. I couldn't drive fast enough.

Buddy Rose the Pit Bull Part VI

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

Thursday, June 10
The Colonel said, " We have to find out what's wrong with him to see if he will ever be able to walk again."

"Okay. Where do we get the money?" I replied.

"I don't know. Charge it on a credit card? We really do have to find out what's wrong with him. We have to do something. We can't give up on him. We can't just put him down and not know why he can't walk."

We were two days away from Buddy's three weeks of supportive care for a neurological issue. Buddy is not walking. He is showing no sign of recovery. The Colonel had no idea of the tears I cried in the yard the day before, but apparently we were feeling the same thing. We made the commitment to Buddy. We needed to do whatever we could to get him up and walking again. We made the decision to call the vet and discuss other options and to go into debt if we must to find out what was wrong with this big guy.

The Colonel called the vet and left a message for him to call us back. When the vet returned out call we were a little surprised at what he wanted us to do for Buddy. Instead of seeing Buddy and running tests on him, he wanted to refer Buddy to a specialist. He wanted us to take Buddy to Dublin, CA in the San Francisco Bay area and see an Internal Medicine Vet. We agreed and waited again for our vet to call us back with an appointment date and time.

We were a little confused at this referral. I have used this veterinary office for more than ten years and the Colonel had used the same for more than thirty. Never, ever had we been referred somewhere else. Several years ago, our vet built a state of the art veterinary office and hospital. We took our last dog, Drew, there for the last ten years of her life. Drew was 18 and in ill health when we made the excruciatingly painful decision to put her down. In our minds, Drew probably paid the mortgage on this state of the art facility for several months during the last few years of her life. Yet, we were being referred to a "specialist."

I did some research on the Internet about pet referrals to specialists. In my opinion, our vet gave up on Buddy. He did not want us to incur the cost of, what he thought to be, useless testing at his facility. Maybe he thought if we spent lots of money with him on Buddy and he couldn't make Buddy well, we would get mad and take our business to another vet. His practice would suffer because he would no longer make money off of the healthy pets in our household. This is just my opinion. We did think it was very different to be referred to a specialist that was more than an hour away.

Our vet's office called us back late that afternoon. Buddy's appointment was Monday at 2PM. We were also told the cost for this initial consultation with the Internal Medicine Vet would be around $200.

We had three days to plan our trek to Dublin with Buddy. Traffic patterns driving into the Bay Area from the Central Valley of California can be tricky. Rush hour traffic in the mornings and afternoons can turn an hour's drive into a two hour traffic filled, stop and go mess. The appointment time of 2PM was a great middle of the day time to travel with Buddy to Dublin. If we could have the consultation and be on our way back home by 3:30 or so, we should avoid all of the major commuting delays and Buddy would have to spend less time riding in the car.

We decided we could not ride with Buddy for an hour each way with him flopping and flailing around in a seat. This trip would have a lot more riding for him than our short 5 minute trips to our vet's office and Buddy needed to be safe and secure. Saturday morning I went to Wal-Mart and purchased the largest dog crate they sold, brought it home, assembled it and parked it in our living room with the door open. We took a couple of Buddy's unlaundered towels and blankets and put them inside the crate with a few dog treats.

During this entire process, Buddy and Mollie were laying on the floor watching us. They were attentive to what we were doing, but neither really came over to check out or sniff the crate. We moved away from the crate and pretended to watch television. Buddy crawled over to the crate, sniffing the air and the floor. He stuck his head inside the crate's door and retrieved one of the treats. Then he stretched a little further and picked up another treat. Mollie the Mini-Schnauzer's nose was in the air sniffing as Buddy quickly swallowed the 2nd treat. Dogs don't think like humans. You would think we could figure this out and not try to plan our own outcomes for our dogs. The next thing we knew, Mollie was inside the big crate quickly scarfing down all of the dog treats. Buddy was smacking his lips at the door of the crate watching Mollie eat all of the treats. The wrong dog was inside the crate! To be fair, we gave Buddy a couple of extra doggie treats and left the two of them to explore the crate on their own.

On Monday, we put Buddy's "night-night" blanket in the big crate and put the crate in the back of the Explorer. We gathered Buddy's water bowl, some bottled water, old towels and a leash. Because we were leaving Mollie at home, something we rarely did, she got a longer than usual morning walk so she would be really tired when we left. I picked up Buddy, took him outside and laid him down in the grass. After the sniff, sniff, sniff and tail flagged straight up in the air, I picked him up and put him in the crate. Once in the crate, he started whining and then he started barking. When the car was moving, Buddy would calm down. When we came to a red light or stop sign, Buddy would start barking again. I don't know if you have ever heard a Pit Bull bark inside a car. I am sure we were quite the sight at every stop we made. This Pit Bull could drown out the loudest music or bass thumping coming from any of the cars around us. Luckily, soon, we were on the freeway with no more stops.

As we drove to see this special Internal Medicine Vet, again we talked about what we thought were all of the available options and outcomes for Buddy Rose. We were both in pretty high spirits knowing we were finally going to find out what was going on with this sweet dog. When we reached the vet clinic, the Colonel went in to wait for our exam room. I gave Buddy some fresh water and sat on the rear bumper waiting with him for the Colonel to return.

I am a planner. I plan everything. I had planned out all of the available outcomes for this wonderful dog. I knew the path of each available outcome. I knew Buddy could walk again. I knew we were on the right track to getting him healthy and back on all four paws. I could not have planned for what happened in that exam room, the options we were given, or my reaction.

The special Internal Medicine Vet came into the exam room and watched Buddy crawl around the floor. He performed a very short physical exam. He asked a few questions, one of which was how Buddy urinated and defecated. We tried our best to explain how Buddy performed these functions extraordinarily and really had worked out all of these details before he came to live with us. The vet took out a piece of paper and drew a diagram with three options. The first option was to perform a battery of tests which included blood work, an x-ray of his lungs, a CT scan of his spine with referral to a surgeon to review and a spinal tap to draw fluid from Buddy's spine for testing . The second option was a referral to one of only two veterinary neurologists in Northern California. The third option was to have Buddy put down.

We came this far to have tests run on Buddy to find out why he was not walking. We chose option number one. As we discussed this option with the vet, he started another diagram of the associated costs. He kept writing and adding. In the end, he gave us an estimate of just under $2,000 for the tests, associated medications and overnight boarding. If the CT scan showed spinal cord damage, injury or disc compression, and reparative surgery was an option, this surgery could cost an additional $5,000.

I don't know what was going through my mind but I was overwhelmed by this information. The vet gave us three options. After choosing what we thought was the best option, I could only see two outcomes. The first, Buddy would be staying at the vet overnight. He would not be making the return trip home with us. I was not prepared for leaving Buddy at the vet's overnight. If the blood work or spinal fluid tests showed some horrible disease, Buddy might never come home again. The second outcome, I couldn't see spending $2,000 for tests which would likely show we needed to spend another $5,000 to get him walking. When I agreed to "charge" the expense, I had no idea we would talking this kind of money. I knew if we agreed to the $2,000 and they found a spinal issue, we would then have to make the very, very difficult decision of spending another $5,000 or putting Buddy down. I had read enough to know that neck surgery on dogs for spinal issues had a very poor prognosis. I couldn't be positive about either of my outcomes.

As we agreed to let them keep Buddy overnight, I was holding back tears. The Colonel signed all of the necessary paperwork and they strapped Buddy to a gurney and took him to "the back." I was not functioning well. The Colonel reminded staff that Buddy had not had anything to eat or drink since midnight and he would need food and water. The Colonel told the staff he would need to be carried out and placed in the grass for him to go to the bathroom. The Colonel asked if we could see him in his kennel before we left. We stepped out into the lobby to wait on the official estimate, pay half of this amount, and wait to see Buddy. In the lobby, I couldn't stop the tears. Then I couldn't stop the sobs. I told the Colonel I could not go and tell Buddy goodbye, I was too upset. I changed my mind. We told Buddy goodbye, gave him some goodbye pats and rubs, and left him at the vet.

With the empty crate in the back of the car, the ride home was a very, very long one.

Buddy the Pit Bull Part V

(Parts I,II, III & IV of Buddy's story are posted below. If you would like to read these first, please scroll down.)

Monday, June 7
Our conversations and much of our life have become filled with Buddy. Carrying him in and out. Feeding him and giving him four medications in eleven pills a day. Sitting outside with him. Neighbors stopping by and visiting Buddy. Watching him for any, any small improvement in his coordination and walking. When he tries to walk, he is like a newborn calf, unsteady and unbalanced. Sometimes he tries to balance himself with his nose. A lot of times he falls. Occasionally, he could balance himself enough to lie down. We brought his food and water to him and held if for him to eat or drink as he lay on the floor. He never sat like a dog sits. He was much stronger and healthier, likely due to good food, fresh water, antibiotics and being parasite free. He could not walk. He crawls. Everywhere. As he has gotten stronger and healthier he is able to crawl farther without resting.

He was much more alert and aware of cats. At first I thought he was just curious, but the more alert he became, the more I realized cats were more of an obsession for him. One day, he quickly crawled over the concrete edging of our flower beds and stuck his big head and half his body completely through the hedge bushes. Another day, I believe, he saw a cat and forgot he couldn't walk. He bunny-hopped himself across the yard. Luckily, I saw the cat about the same time he did and was able to stop him at the sidewalk. We hated for him to get on concrete or pavement. Besides scraping his chest and legs, he would sometimes try to stand on concrete. If he fell on hard surfaces, he would cause abrasions to his legs. Two of his "knees" had cuts which he kept re-opening when he would fall or stumble. It was really hard to get these cuts to heal.

As the weather grew hotter, we would move around our front yard to find shady places in the grass. As we moved around the house toward our front porch one day, I realized our cat, Lucky Charm, was on the front porch. Before I realized what was going on, Buddy had quickly crawled himself up two steps and cornered our cat on the front porch. I never heard Buddy growl, but I surely heard the hissing and growling the cat was making. I put myself between Buddy and Lucky Charm and scooped the cat up in my arms. I jumped off the front porch with the cat and ran around the house to our back gate leading to our back-yard patio. To get to this gate, you have to cross over the concrete edging, which is more of a concrete curb. On this particular day, this concrete edging held a huge mud puddle from watering the flower beds. Carrying the cat, I crossed the edging, jumped the puddle, opened the gate and put Lucky Charm on the patio. Cats really motivated Buddy. I had no idea just how fast he could crawl when appropriately motivated. I closed the gate only to turn around and find Buddy lying in the middle of the mud puddle with this big goofy smile as if to say, "Oh yea, Mom, I took care of that cat didn't I?" I couldn't help but laugh at him laying there in the water, covered with mud! That day, for the first time since we had him, Buddy got hosed down in the yard. I believe he enjoyed it all from chasing the cat to lying in the puddle to being hosed down and towel dried in our front yard.

Every morning before we went out to the front yard, we put Mollie the Mini-Schnauzer on her leash. Buddy would get really excited when we would put a leash on Mollie. We started taking the old leash that Buddy played with in the yard and putting it around Buddy's neck before we went outside. Sometimes one of us would hold his leash, like we were walking him as he crawled. He seemed to like the whole "walking" thing. The Colonel said a red collar would look really good with Buddy's black and white markings, so, we got Buddy a red collar! He looked like a tuxedo with a big red bow tie! Quite handsome he was in his new red bow tie.

Buddy not only got a new collar, he also got a last name. First thing in the morning, you open the bathroom door and out crawls this beautiful black and white dog wagging his tail at you.

"Hey, hey! Good Morning BudRose."

Haven't you always wanted to walk into your living room and look at your happy dog and say, "Hey Budrows!" Maybe you already do. Maybe you don't.

I grew up in the South. Buddy, Bubba, Budrow and Budrows were names for every guy. Didn't really matter what their real name was, any of these names would work. When we first got Buddy, he smelled terrible. I will never forget sitting in the small, apparently poorly ventilated, vet exam room that first day. Buddy really did stink up that room. So, take the opposite of how he smelled when we got him and combine it with the common every man Southern names and you get Rose. Buddy's name became Buddy Rose.

Our three week "neurological recovery period" was running out. Buddy was not walking, nor did he show any signs that he was going to walk. Some days, we thought he was improving, maybe even trying to teach himself to walk again. Some days he would do something new, nothing remarkable, something like licking his paws. Looking for any sign of hope or improvement , we would think many of these small things were monumental. Other days, absolutely nothing changed. He was not getting any worse, but when we really faced what was going on, he really wasn't improving much, he was just healthier and stronger. Buddy was a beautiful Pit Bull, inside and out, who could not walk.

One afternoon as Buddy and I sat alone in the grass in our front yard, he crawled over to me and placed his head on my leg and looked up at me. I don't know. The look in his eyes was so incredibly sad. I felt as if he were saying I'm really tired and it's just too hard to crawl anymore. I cried and cried as I patted him on the head and rubbed his neck. His big, gold, sad eyes just stared up at me. My tears fell on his nose, his face and his head. I think I knew then just from his look that it was over. He wasn't going to get any better and he was tired. I was defeated. Maybe Buddy and I were both defeated.

Buddy the Pit Bull Part IV

(Part I, II & III of this story are posted below. If you would like to read these first, please scroll down.)

Sunday, May 30
I had never heard of feeding gunpowder to a dog. If you want to find out about it, you can google Pit Bulls and gunpowder. I should warn you, if you search for this, you will likely find a lot more information about Pit Bulls and dog fighting than you want to know. Pit Bulls are fed gunpowder to make them mean. They don't get mean. They get sick. Using my best guess, I figure Buddy was fed gunpowder sometime in March. We weren't sure if this could be part of his inability to walk or not. Add the possibility that he had been hit with a tire iron and fed Ex Lax and we had a few more things to tell the vet when we saw him for Buddy's follow-up appointment on Thursday.

California is one of the states which has a felony charge for feeding a dog gunpowder. If we had first hand knowledge of when, where and who had fed gunpowder to Buddy, we could and would have gone to the authorities. Unfortunately, all we had was hearsay which couldn't be used as evidence to get anyone arrested. Personally, arresting and fining someone for Buddy's abuse wasn't exactly what I had in mind as punishment for whoever had mistreated him. We continued to wonder if Buddy had been hit with something, but once again, we had no real proof of this abuse either.

Although we started Buddy on a new antibiotic for his inflamed prostate on Saturday, he continued to bleed Sunday and Monday. On Monday, the vet called to check on him and inquire about the bleeding. The Colonel then made another trip to the vet to pick up another antibiotic. Let's see, he's still taking the Doxycycline every 12 hours. The Saturday the bleeding started the vet added Ciproflaxin every 12 hours and Zubrin once a day for pain. On Monday, he started taking Clindamycin every 12 hours. This poor dog was taking eleven pills a day. I worried that he was taking so many antibiotics, we might kill whatever good stuff was inside of him keeping him alive.

Buddy has never shown he was in any kind of pain. If we thought he was hurting, we would have probably had him put down if nothing else could have been done. He's one tough dog. His tolerance for pain must be off the charts. He tries to walk and falls, over and over again. He has a raw chest and "elbows" from crawling. He's bleeding clots from his penis. Yet, his general demeanor was always the same and he always had a great appetite. He really did seem like a happy dog that crawled instead of walked. The Colonel noticed that after we gave him the first Zubrin for pain, for the first time Buddy started to softly snore when he was sleeping. This could note he was in pain. We just didn't see it and the pain medication actually helped him to be more comfortable and rest better.

With the hope of keeping blood from getting everywhere, we covered our floor with quilts and rugs, everywhere Buddy crawled or slept. The bleeding slowly eased off and by Tuesday afternoon we saw very little blood. After a few days on the antibiotics, there was a noticeable change in Buddy. Outside, he started rolling over on his back, scratching in the grass. He became much more alert and started noticing movement around him, particularly cats, in our neighborhood. A neighbor came over with her camera and took some pictures of Buddy. I threw a leash down in the yard and Buddy crawled to it and picked it up in his mouth. He would throw his head back and toss the leash above his head, almost as if he were trying to get it around his neck. I found a pink and white stuffed dog that rattled and threw it in the yard. Buddy crawled to it, picked it up in his mouth and crawled around the yard showing his new toy to everyone.

In the house, Buddy found one of Mollie's stuffed squeaky toys. The first time it squeaked, I think it startled him. Although he tried as hard as he could, he had real trouble getting Mollie's toys to squeak, or maybe I should say, he surely could not squeak them like she could. Mollie, the Mini-Schnauzer, gets the most out of her squeaky toys. She can lay down and make a toy squeak incessantly for five or ten minutes at a time. Her "squeaking" her toys would get Buddy going, he would find a toy and try and try to make it squeak. Every now and then he would succeed. More than once his teeth simply pierced the squeaker in the toy and, alas, that toy would no longer make a sound. A neighbor gave Buddy and Mollie each their own squeaky tennis ball. Within a couple of days, only one of the balls would squeak. The other ball had a small tooth mark in it preventing it from squeaking anymore. Many times, Buddy didn't care if his toy squeaked or not, he seemed happy to have it in his mouth, crawling around the floor showing it to anyone who would give him attention. Mollie and Buddy started playing a little together too. The two of them would get into a tug o'war with a toy. For the most part, I suppose, Buddy let Mollie win. Occasionally, Buddy would hold out and win the contest.

On Thursday, we took Buddy for his follow-up appointment with the vet who had originally seen him. We told the vet about the possibility of injury, the gunpowder and the Ex-Lax. Our vet said he had never heard of feeding dogs gunpowder to make them mean. He said he would have to "look that one up." Buddy had a complete physical exam in the exam room with both of us present. When the vet tested Buddy's reflexes, absolutely nothing happened. Not just in one leg, but in all four legs. It was sad to watch. The vet kept trying. He would reposition Buddy and try again. Buddy had no reflex response in three legs and very little reflex response in the fourth. The vet checked Buddy's reflexes in his head and neck. He turned the lights off to check his eyes. Buddy's head, neck and eyes seemed normal. The vet said he suspected a neurological issue with his spine. It might be a spinal cord injury, a tumor, a compressed disc or an infection. Something was affecting the nerves in all four of his legs. The vet didn't really push to take x-rays or pictures of Buddy's spine. What the vet wanted us to do was to continue to give Buddy supportive care for the three-week period when neurological issues will improve as much as they can.

We were down to one last dose of pain medication for Buddy and we really did believe it helped him to be more comfortable, relax and rest. The Colonel asked the vet if we could get the Zubrin refilled. The vet was a little hesitant, stating Buddy didn't appear to be in any pain. The Colonel said it appeared Buddy was more comfortable after taking the Zubrin. The vet was still hesitant again stating it didn't seem Buddy was in any pain. We asked the vet if he was bleeding from where Buddy had been bleeding, would he be in pain? Buddy has never shown he was in pain or uncomfortable. The vet refilled Buddy's pain medication.

It's hard to describe the anguish we would go through every time Buddy had to go to the vet. Every trip to the vet, for whatever reason, was a real cause for concern. Would today be the day the vet would want an enormous amount of money for a test, a surgery or a treatment? What would it cost to find out what was wrong with him? Why couldn't he walk? Even without more expenses now, if Buddy could walk again, we would still have to pay for all of his vaccinations and to have him neutered. Ultimately, him walking was our goal. He was stronger and healthier, and maybe he took a couple of steps occasionally, but he couldn't walk. We believed he had to walk to have any kind of quality of life. We always knew we were his foster home. We knew keeping him forever was not an option. We were not equipped or able to handle a dog of Buddy's size. It was hard not to fall in love with the big, crawling, goofy guy. When we took Buddy out of his horrible situation, we made a commitment to him that we intended to keep. We were almost two weeks in to the three weeks of supportive care the vet talked about for neurological issues. We were taking things one day at a time.

Buddy the Pit Bull Part III

(Parts I & II of this story are posted below. If you would like to read these first, please scroll down.)

Saturday, May 29th
Today started like all of the rest of the days of this week. I opened the door to our little bathroom and out crawled Buddy. Every morning he wagged and wagged his tail as he came crawling out to greet us.

After Buddy had breakfast and his meds, the four of us (two 2-legged & two 4-legged) went out in the front yard to sit. As was usual, Buddy crawled around, sniff, sniff, sniff and his tail went up. Then he crawled up next to my feet in the grass to take a nap. The Colonel and Mollie went back inside. A little while later, Buddy started crawling around again sniffing. Knowing his routine, I went to the garage to get one of the plastic grocery bags. Buddy finished going to the bathroom and crawled back to where I had been sitting. I went to clean up his poop, except this time something was different. Holy crap, what is that? Something is moving in that mess. I quickly bagged the offensive stuff, left Buddy in the yard and went to get the Colonel. The Colonel is much smarter and calmer than I am. One call to the vet and the Colonel was headed to their office with the "sample."

Tapeworm is a word I've heard but never had the opportunity to deal with on a first-hand basis. The Colonel came home with two little pills which we needed to give to Buddy to get rid of this parasite. I rolled the two little pills in a piece of chicken lunch meat and fed them to Buddy at 10AM. At noon, a friend and I were sitting in the garage with Buddy who was laying, sort of half-on half-off of a rug. I thought I could see a wet spot on the garage floor. I got up and went over to Buddy and checked it out, under his penis was a dime-size spot of what looked like blood. I used a paper towel to touch him, and sure enough, he was bleeding this thick clotty looking blood from his penis. I left Buddy with my friend and ran into the house to get the phone. I called the vet and left a message with the receptionist about what was going on with Buddy, a mere two hours after we had given him the worm pills. We had seen absolutely no bleeding in a week and two hours after he takes worm pills, he is bleeding. I thought it was more than just coincidence. What in the world could be wrong with this poor dog? I waited for the vet to return my call.

At about 2:30 that afternoon, Buddy's bleeding had progressively gotten worse. He wasn't gushing blood, but now, when he crawled he left a small trail of blood. When he was resting, he left a small puddle of blood. The vet had not called back, so, I called them again.

"Please bring Buddy in. The vet wants to see him."

I'm not sure Buddy ever had much opportunity to ride in a car but, for the second time in a week, Buddy was taking a car ride. Buddy gets really excited in the car. Since he can't sit or stand and he is so excited, he just kind of flops himself around in the car seat. Although, because of the bleeding, we had covered the seat with an old flannel sheet, Buddy's flopping around just got him tangled in the sheet as it balled up underneath him. I rode next to him, but could do little to calm him. When we got to the vet, this time the Colonel went in as I sat in the car with Buddy until an exam room became available. And, once again, I carried him into the vet.

Of course, the vet who had seen Buddy the previous Saturday was not in on this Saturday. Again, we told our story: had him a week, can't afford expensive tests, need him to get healthy and walk, then vaccinated, neutered and find him a loving, forever home. The vet and a tech carried Buddy out of the exam room to do a prostate exam on him in "the back" of the office. Buddy still coughed and choked terribly when he drank water. Jokingly, I told the vet that if she needed him to cough, just give him a drink of water. The vet had trouble feeling everything she needed to feel during Buddy's prostate exam and I believe she did us a really big favor. She did an ultrasound on Buddy's prostate. Something we knew nothing about until they brought Buddy back to us in the exam. We never saw the ultrasound on our bill.

Buddy has an "inflamed and cystic" prostate and will need to take a second antibiotic. Okay. I carried Buddy to the car. The Colonel paid the bill and received the new prescription for Buddy and home we came.

As you have read previously, Saturday is the day we take weekly meds to the home where Buddy used to live. We were too busy on this Saturday for that, but I delivered the meds on Sunday morning. The lady and her son both asked about Buddy. I told them he still wasn't walking and was having some other issues at the moment.

The son said, "Was he hit? I'm gonna kill Richard if you tell me he was hit. I found a 4-point tire iron in the yard. I bet Richard hit him. I'm gonna kill Richard."

We had really wondered if someone had hit or abused Buddy, causing his inability to walk. I answered that I doubted we would ever know if Buddy was injured or if something had just gone wrong in his spine.

And then, this 21 year-old, full-body tattooed, three-time convicted auto thief, ex-inmate of the California Correction System started to cry.

"He fed him gunpowder you know."

"What?" I was shocked.

"Richard. He fed him gunpowder. To make him mean."

"What?" I asked again.

"Gunpowder. It makes 'em mean."

I just stood there. Silent. I didn't know what to say, or how to respond. Gunpowder? Obviously I live on the wrong planet to understand this conversation. Certainly I live in the wrong neighborhood.

"I've never heard of that," I said, trying my best to hold my composure.

"He got really sick. Throwing up. But I took care of him. I thought he got constipated so I fed him Ex-Lax for a few days. He got better."

I have to get out of here. As I drove away, all I could think about was Buddy. Maybe he was hit with a tire iron. Gunpowder? Feeding a dog gunpowder? Poor, poor Buddy.

Buddy the Pit Bull Part II

(Part I of Buddy's story is posted below. If you would like to read it first, please scroll down below this posting.)

Sunday, May 23: As we went to sleep last night, we figured we would have messes to clean up in the bathroom where our new house guest was sleeping. At 5AM we got up, opened the bathroom door and out crawled Buddy. I picked him up and carried him outside to the grass...sniff, sniff, sniff...tail flagged straight up in the air. No messes in the bathroom to clean up. Maybe Buddy is housebroken? Doubtful we thought, but hey, I surely would be thankful for that blessing. We'll just wait and see.

We have to give him Doxycycline with food every 12 hours, so, by 6:30 our first morning, Buddy was fed and dosed with his antibiotics. By 8AM, Buddy, the Colonel, Mollie and me were all out in our front yard. (We really don't have a back yard it's a concrete patio with flowers and plants around the outside-no grass for Buddy to crawl around.) The Colonel and I had lawn chairs. We dragged a couple of old rugs out on the sidewalk for the dogs. We really needed to keep Buddy from crawling on the concrete to try to keep his chest and "elbows" from getting scraped any further.

For the next week, every day became routine with Buddy. Carry him out. Carry him in. Feed him and give him his meds. Carry him outside and sit with him. Carry him back inside. Carry him out, sit with him, carry him in. Feed him his dinner and give his meds. Carry him out and sit with him until he did ALL of his business. Carry him in. And, in and out once more before "night-night" time.

Our small bathroom has four lights mounted above the mirror. I removed all of the light bulbs except one and left that one light on at night for Buddy. After the first two nights he didn't cry after I laid him on his bed in the floor of the bathroom and closed the door. Several nights went by and he didn't cry, I decided maybe he would like to sleep better in the dark, so that night I turned the light out before I closed the door. Within seconds, I could hear Buddy whimpering. I opened the door, stuck my arm in and turned the light back on and closed the door. No whimpering. No crying. Silence. Guess Buddy didn't like the dark.

Daily, as we sat in the yard with Buddy, neighbors started coming over: the 9-year-old twins, their mom and grandmom from across the street, two teenagers and their mom also from across the street. Neighbors from around the block who walked daily would also walk by. Some would visit, others would speak as they walked. Sometimes I would see people walking down the street but when they saw Buddy the Pit Bull lying in the grass, they would turn around or turn down another street before they walked past. Any stranger who came close was always told he was very friendly and he wasn't much of a menace because he couldn't walk. He could only crawl. Many, many of the neighbors now knew the story of Buddy, the Pitt Bull who couldn't walk.

The weather was nice and I was getting a pretty good tan from sitting in the sun. My hands and arms were another story. The inside of my forearms and hands were almost raw. I really was allergic to his fur. I started taking Claritin D and Benadryl daily to try to stop the red bumps and rash on my arms. And since we really weren't sure what was wrong with him, I was washing my hands 50-60 times a day. I used several different lotions to try and slow the chapping. Every night before I went to bed, I slathered my hands, knuckles and arms in lotion.

Although we seemed to find a pretty good routine with Buddy, Lucky Charm - AKA the meanest cat in the entire world - was not a good fit. Buddy couldn't walk, but that didn't keep him from trying to crawl through our house after the cat. Once or twice the cat would sneak in through the pet door, Buddy would hear the door and immediately crawl after the cat. We started separating Lucky Charm and Buddy. The cat would either be outside or in a closed bedroom unless Buddy was outside or "night-night." A few times, when the cat would want into the living room, I would take Buddy to the garage and sit with him there until the Colonel would let us know the coast was clear and the cat was put up. I don't know if Buddy would kill the cat or not, but the cat surely was not going to get close enough to Buddy to find out! I don't think I have heard Buddy growl at the cat, or growl at anything else for that matter, but the cat surely can growl and hiss at Buddy.

When Buddy wasn't chasing our cat, trying to drink water from flower beds, eating or "sniffing" around, he was sleeping or resting in the grass or on a rug outside or on an area rug in the middle of our living room floor. During the first week, we never left Buddy home alone. One of us was always with him. He didn't have a collar or a leash. Our homeowners association has a pretty strict leash rule for dogs, but when the dog can only crawl, well, we just didn't see it as a real problem. I did wonder if anyone (there's always someone) would complain about the Pit Bull off-leash in our front yard. I was kind of waiting for that - if someone complained, they had no idea about Buddy or that he couldn't walk.

We've always had little dogs. We really had no idea about how much or what to feed Buddy. Mollie, the spoiled Mini-Schnauzer, turns her nose up at most of her dog food, knowing that if she stays on her hunger strike long enough, something better will end up in her food dish. I should have known better than to start Buddy on Kibbles N' Bits. He developed diarrhea almost immediately. I went to the pet store looking for a good food for the digestive tract and came home home with Iams with Prebiotics. We started cooking frozen chicken tenders in the microwave and chopping one chicken tender into two cups of dry dog food twice a day. Buddy ate like a horse. His stomach and digestive tract seemed to like this food. I knew his digestive system was working better.

I wasn't raised to carry around little doggy bags to pick up doggy excrement, but, welcome to the California suburbs. I have been using those little bags to pick up doggy doo from small dogs for many years. I was in for a surprise. Buddy not only ate like a horse, he poops like a cow. Mollie's little tiny doggy doo bags simply would not do. I now kept a stack of plastic grocery bags in the garage for Buddy's poop and made a mental note to check on extra large biodegradable doggy doo bags on my next trip to the pet store.

During our first week we researched everything we could find on the Internet about dogs with four-legged paralysis and the causes. In our minds, the first and best hope we had for Buddy was tick paralysis. All of the ticks were removed and Buddy had been on Doxycycline for several days, but he still didn't walk. We were pretty sure tick paralysis was not the diagnosis. We could see him getting healthier. He could hold his head up. His coat improved. His eyes were clear. But, he still didn't walk. The vet called on Wednesday of that week to tell us that Buddy's "tick panel" had come back normal. He confirmed what we had pretty much figured out. The vet asked how Buddy was doing and wanted to make sure his condition had not deteriorated. No, his condition was not any worse, and in some senses he was improving, but there was no sign he could walk.

During this first week, I started posting Facebook updates on Buddy. Buddy quickly developed quite a following.

The Colonel and I talked a lot about options for Buddy. Now, without tick paralysis as a diagnosis, we were back to a neurological problem. Three weeks for Buddy to improve as much as he could. We had already committed to at least that. We still had to get him neutered and bring all of his shots up to date, if he could walk. We also knew we could not afford to spend thousands of dollars on tests. Neither of us ever regretted taking Buddy out of his horrible situation but we really didn't know where we were going. We also had no idea just how bad Buddy's situation was.

Buddy the Pit Bull Part I

If you had told me on Friday, that by the end of the week-end I would have a Pit Bull living in my house, I would have called you a liar. This is Buddy's story.

On Saturday, May 15, we made our weekly delivery of meds to an acquaintance whom we assist. The Colonel thought maybe this lady's dog had been hit by a car because he was having trouble moving his hind legs. We talked about it in the car as we were driving away but little more was mentioned in the next week.

On Saturday May 22, again we made our weekly delivery of meds and found the dog laying in the yard. He was unable to get up or walk. He was just laying in the dirt, filthy. The Colonel had a long talk with the owner, telling her she had to call the vet. The dog must see the vet. The dog was dying in her yard. The owner stated she had been searching for Pit Bull rescues on the Internet but none of them were local. We stressed she had to call the vet. She had a plethora of excuses: no money, no transportation, etc., etc. She said she would just have it taken to the local shelter. I told her a Pit Bull who can't walk would be put down in a matter of hours at our local "kill" shelter. He would not survive at the shelter. We told her she had to call her vet and get an appointment for the dog and make the arrangements to pay for her pet's care even if she had to make monthly payments, but that she HAD to do something for her dog. As we left, I think we both knew nothing was going to happen and the dog was going to lay there and die.

The Colonel said, "I just can't stand this. We can't leave that dog there to die."

I said, "Okay," and turned the car around and we headed back.

When we arrived back at the house, the dog was still lying in the same place in the yard. There was no bowl of water in sight and last night's dinner scraps were tossed across the patio attracting numerous flies.

We went in the house and told the owner, "Your dog is dying in the yard. You have a decision to make. We will take the dog and take him to our vet and see if he can be made well. We don't have the money to fix him either, but somehow we will come up with it, if he can get better. If we take him, we will not bring him back here. He will become our dog. If he can walk again, we will find him a good home. If he can't walk we will have to have him put down, but at least he won't suffer anymore. So, what's your decision? Let him lay there dying in your yard, or let us take him?"

The owner agreed to let us take him.

After a few perfunctory questions, "When did he have his last shots?" "Is he fixed?" We learned pretty quickly that we were not going to get any straight answers. "We found him under a house beside the road when he was a puppy." "How old is he?" "We found him under a house, next to the road a couple of years ago, when he was a puppy." He had never been to a vet. He had never had any vaccinations. I was so aggravated at these people, words just cannot describe. Absolutely anything could be wrong with him. It could be something minor or something terrible. The one thing they did tell us was they thought a fox tail may have gotten into his penis. I had never heard of a fox tail, let alone where they thought this was was lodged, but at least it was something we could tell the vet.

As her son loaded him in the car I asked him what the dog's name was? "Buddy," he replied.

We dropped Mollie, the Mini-Schnauzer, off at our house as we took Buddy to the vet. Oh, he smelled so bad. I have never taken an animal of any kind anywhere that was in the shape Buddy was in. When we got to the vet, because Buddy couldn't walk, the Colonel stayed in the car with him while I went in and told the staff about the dog. Luckily, the wait was short and two attendants came out with a stretcher to take Buddy in. Buddy would have nothing to do with the stretcher. Although he couldn't walk, he could still somehow get his back legs under him and leap, only to splay himself out on his belly wherever he landed. I carried Buddy into the vet's office where the vet tech guessed his weight (he would not be still on the scales) at about 62 lbs.

I am not sure what we were thinking. It was Saturday. Maybe we wanted the vet to keep Buddy until Monday to evaluate him. We took the dog and got him to the vet, but we really didn't have any plans beyond that. We sat in the vet exam room with this stinking, smelly, big old dog who was truly a stranger to us. A dog that can't walk. We told one of the vet techs we weren't sure when the dog last had water or food. She brought a big bowl of fresh water and some dog cookies. Buddy choked and coughed as he lapped at the water. At first he didn't seem interested in the dog cookies, but after he finished drinking water, coughing and choking, he ate all of the cookies and the vet tech brought some more, which he also quickly ate and then he drank some more water. He seemed to choke on the water and would cough horribly.

When the vet finally came in to examine Buddy, his first question was, "How long have you had him?" Our answer, "Uh, about 30 minutes or so." We tried to make it clear to the vet that we didn't have a lot of money. Our intent was to get him up, get him healthy, get him neutered, vaccinated and find him a good, loving home. The vet wanted to know if he had ever walked and we told him that he was walking at least three weeks prior. He had a big fenced yard that he could roam around in and the son occasionally took him out of the fence for a walk. We knew the dog used to walk, we just had no idea what was causing him not to walk. As the vet examined him, he began to talk about neurological problems causing his inability to walk. Then he found a tick in his ear and another on his neck. Tick paralysis could be the cause of his lack of mobility. The vet noticed that when he tried to stand, he didn't seem to be using his front legs or his rear legs very well. We thought the problem was mainly with his rear legs, but his front must also be affected. The vet made it very clear because Buddy had no vaccinations, he couldn't keep him at their office. He also said we should keep him quarantined from any other dogs we have. The vet left the room. A vet tech came in to remove the ticks and take blood samples to run tests.

We waited. My arms itched. I hadn't notice that hundreds of small bumps had formed on the insides of my arms. Fleas? I washed my hands and arms in the sink in the vet exam room. My arms were red, bumpy and itchy. The Colonel and I talked as we waited. Tick paralysis would be an easy diagnosis. Once the ticks are removed, the dog will usually recover in a a couple of days. Neurological problems were another story. A Pit Bull. What were we thinking? If he had to go home with us, the first priority was to give him a bath. We made plans to put him in our shower, use the sprayer and liberal amounts of flea and tick shampoo. And pray this Pit Bull had a good easy temperament which would allow us to keep all of our limbs.

The vet returned and said all of the blood work came back normal except for a high white blood cell count which could be associated with tick paralysis. He tested negative for heart worms and would need to be put on heart worm/flea/tick preventative. He wanted permission to do a test called a "tick panel" to see if it might show some hint of tick poisoning. Although there is no sure test for tick paralysis, something in this test might lean him toward that diagnosis. We gave our okay for the test and the expense. He said he wanted to put Buddy on the antibiotic Doxycycline and he would give us a prescription for ten days but he really wanted him to be on it for 30. So, providing the dog's condition did not deteriorate further, we would need to get more of the antibiotic in ten days. The other diagnosis, a neurological issue, might improve in 3 weeks. The vet said that 3 weeks is about the most time for a neurological issue to improve as much as it can. I carried Buddy back to the car and one of the vet techs came out to give Buddy a Capstar pill which would eliminate all fleas in approximately 30 minutes. The Colonel sat with him in the car while I paid the bill and got the prescriptions.

Once we got him home, I picked him up out of the car and placed him on the grass. He started crawling around and sniffing. Soon, he got his back feet under him and raised his rear end an inch or so off the ground, his tail was pointing straight up. The tail straight up in the air soon became our signal that Buddy was urinating. As soon as he finished, he would crawl away from that particular spot. That day he went straight from the yard to our shower. He laid in the bottom of the shower as I sprayed him with water, soaped him up and rinsed him off. I took another five ticks off of him as I bathed him. He never growled or looked uncomfortable or acted as if any of this bothered him. Once he was toweled off we realized the parts of his fur that were previously yellow were now bright white with many black spots on his skin beneath his white fur. My arms were once again covered with red, itchy bumps. Fleas? I somehow doubted fleas were the issue. I think I am allergic to Buddy's fur.

After his bath, we poured a couple of cupfuls of Kibble n' Bits into a bowl and took it to him. We sat the bowl in front of him. He laid there and ate every single bite. Then we brought him water which he drank and choked and coughed and drank some more. The coughing and choking with water is worrisome, but it doesn't seem to bother him. We started him on the doxycyline that afternoon. So, after eating, drinking and taking his meds, he crawled around and sniffed the carpet, then rolled over on his side and went to sleep.

What goes in must come out, so a couple of hours later I picked him up and carried him outside and laid him on the grass. He immediately started crawling around and sniffing, and sure enough within a few minutes that tail went straight up. I set a lawn chair in the yard and sat down beside him. He seemed to enjoy laying outside in the grass. After 30 minutes or so, he started crawling around sniffing again, but this time it was his bowels. Sure enough, this dog has really worked out all of it's business and he doesn't need to walk to get it done. I learned quickly that we had to keep him from drinking water from flowers beds or puddles in the street. He was streetwise. He had learned to take care of his needs on his own. Learning this stuff was really something to admire in this dog. He took care of his needs better than some healthy people I know. He doesn't know it yet, but he has just moved into the "Taj Mahal" for dogs. I wonder how long it will take us to spoil him rotten.

Keeping Buddy and Mollie separated in our small house was impossible. I wish I could read Mollie's mind. This morning she was "Queen Dog" of "Taj Mahal" and this evening, well, there's a very large dog sleeping on "her" floor. Mollie wanted to play with him at first, but then she realized he really couldn't play. Next, she barked at him a little, like she wanted to "fix" him. I guess she has decided he is here. I did notice she didn't sleep on the floor that day. Mollie took her daytime naps on the couch and left the floor to Buddy.

That night, using a quilt, we made him a bed in our small bathroom. I carried him in and laid him down on the quilt, left the light on, closed the door and headed to bed. We heard him cry for a few minutes, then silence.

Buddy's a beautiful dog. His coloring reminds me of a black and white cow. His size reminds me of a calf. When he tries to walk, he looks like a new-born calf trying to take it's first steps. He can't take one or two steps without falling or trying to use his nose to balance himself. His chest and front "elbows" are raw from crawling. His nose is red from trying to balance. He has a few scars around his nose and a couple on his legs. I don't think he has enough scars to have been a fighting dog. His ears and lips are completely intact-from what I have learned from the Internet- these are the most pierced and scarred areas of fighting dogs.

For us and Buddy, it's one day at a time.