Buddy the Pit Bull Part 3
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Buddy the Pit Bull Part III
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.
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