Monday, March 5, 2007

the Otis saga continues

We took poor Otis to the vet. They looked at his teeth, his eye, and the bump on his nose. The vet took a cell sample of the bump--it was very unsettling. She used a fine syringe, poked it right into the bump (massive cringe on my part), and sucked up some cells in the syringe. It did not bleed, and she did not get any blood in the syringe either. Otis didn't even flinch. He just tried to back himself right underneath my chair. She took another one from the other side, and looked at the cells under the microscope.

She informed us that they were mass cells -- oh boy, I can't remember exactly -- of some sort, and could be malignant. Of course, they want almost $500 to cut it off and send it into the lab. $30 a minute for anesthesia, yikes! I'm starting to think that pet insurance sounds pretty good. I had a chance to get it once, but I thought, "Pahhh! What a racket!" So instead, we forked out over $100 Saturday to have them tell us that it could be malignant. Oh, and they clipped his insanely long nails, too. And if this is malignant, then they would need to go back over the incision and take off more skin and more tissue, for at least another $500, I'm sure. Oh, and he has gingivitis and tartar buildup, but they can take care of that for a mere $220. No sweat. All of this, for our free dog. I think when it comes to animals, free is never really free.

Like the time we got our two cats, Franklin and Tucker, for free from our daughter's co-worker, and within weeks, Tucker had broken his leg trying to jump up after a toy one of the kids was holding. That was not cheap, by any means. He had to have a cast put on, and we were supposed to keep him quiet. Yeah, right. That's like keeping a two-year-old quiet. That cat would go charging through the house, just swinging his cast out to the side as he ran. If you were standing nearby, you stood there at your own risk. I was whacked in the ankle more than once as he raced by with Franklin hot on his heels, galumping along like a whole herd of horses. Quiet, my eye.

So anyway, back to Otis...I think we will have to save up the money and hope it doesn't get worse before then, because I don't think amateur surgery with a razor knife really would cut it (no pun intended!) -- it is a difficult situation. If it is cancer, it could be in his organs already. I know that we need to take care of our animals. We do our best. I just feel bad for him. It's always poor, poor Otis. He has such a great attitude most of the time. Why is it always poor Otis?

2 comments:

Faith said...

Poor doggy! You know I have always said that if that type of thing happened to my dog, cancer, expensive treatment, I would just put him to sleep. Easier said than done I'm sure. I really don't know how I'd feel if it happened to our dog. He is just a special guy! Lovable, playful, always ready to lick, and comfort you when he knows your sad! Last night the big moose (he's 50lbs) decided he wanted to sleep up on the bed. I was ready to shoo him off, then my heart softened. Ok puppy, you can stay up here tonight. I was crowded all night! He decided to sprawl out on my side of the bed. Needless to say I didn't get a good nights rest. But it was so comforting to have him snuggled up against my legs.
My husbands family thinks we are crazy when we let him up on the bed. I always said, no dogs on the bed no matter what. HA!! Eat your words! He's just a lover and he likes to be close to us at all times. We snuggle on the couch and he's gotta come and give kisses. I love that dog!
Best of luck with Otis! I hope he gets better. It sounds kinda silly, but can you pray for a dog? I think so! I will pray for him.

daisyaday said...

Please do pray for him! If God knows when each hair falls from our heads, certainly he knows when we are sad about our pets, too.

They bring us so much joy--our dogs are a part of our family. They sleep on the couch, on the bed, and our dachshund can't get up on the bed because of his back, so he sleeps next to the bed on a comfy smooshy doggie pillow (I call it his "spotsy-wotsy"!) And he knows what I mean when I tell him to go there.