Best Worst Day--Betty Comes Home

  To say that we were elated to bring our baby girl home would be a gross understatement. By the night before pick up, we had designated and set up our second bedroom as the puppy room, and had every "necessary" product on hand for her homecoming. I hardly slept the night before-- it was like being a five year old, and waiting for Santa.

 

     We set out on our long drive, chattering the whole way about the next chapter we were embarking on--Betty would be there to run in the sand when we go to the family beach house, scout around the woods on camping trips, pull our children on a sled on snow days, and celebrate our 40th birthdays, as a good ol' girl. I know it's crazy, but I never said we were sane! We were over the moon.

    When we got there, Betty squeezed her way through her littermates and straight to us. How great was that?! We picked her up out of the commotion, and sat down on the couch for her to have her first booster shot. When Bo sat her down, she made an attempt to trot across the living room, and we immediately saw that she was not putting weight on her left hind leg. The breeder was just as concerned as we were, and told us that she hadn't noticed her limping before. She had a ping pong ball sized lump on the inside of her left hind leg, with a healing puncture wound in the center. The breeder offered to take her to the vet, but we were ready to have our puppy home, and didn't want to trouble her, so off we went-- straight to the vet.

     Betty snuggled the whole ride home, alternating between looking me sweetly in the eyes, and nuzzling into the crook of my neck (except for when she threw up all over my lap..). 

 A tad nauseous on the ride home

We drove straight to our vet, where we waited for 3 hours on a busy holiday season Saturday, and were the last to be seen. By this point, after all the poking and rubbing we had done (without so much as a whimper from Betty), we were hoping it was some sort of crazy spider bite, but were concerned about how hard the mass was.

     Our vet had been crying, when she came back with the xrays. She looked devastated, and answered our shocked looks of concern with "It's really bad."

She had broken her tibia and fibula, including the growth plates, and the bones were badly infected

 

     We discussed the implications of the injury, and were completely overwhelmed. Options could potentially range from amputation for roughly $1200, to multiple exhaustive reconstructive surgeries, which would be deep into the thousands. Amputation could shorten her life expectancy, and leave her with arthritis in her remaining 3 limbs (especially since she's a large breed), and surgeries would be painful, with constant rehab and recovery, likely lead to arthritis in the leg regardless, and possibly be unsuccessful altogether. She wanted to send the xrays to multiple orthopedic surgeons in her network, and get some more definitive answers. We were heartbroken.

Comforting my baby, and processing the diagnosis

 

     Bo was apprehensive about embarking on such a rocky road, and painfully aware of the fact that we did not have $1200-$??,000 in savings (probably no more than $11 in savings, between us, really), and went silent. There was much discussion needed at this point, so our vet recommended we leave Betty there for the night, to be medicated and monitored, while we went home to come to an agreement. She made her point that decision making, regarding the future of the cutest and most loving puppy on earth, would not be possible, with her sweet face looking at us. My heart sank, walking out of the clinic. My head was reeling, and the tears were gushing.

   I did what any 28 year old adult would do, and called my mommy. I have the best mom. She's one of those types of ma, who always has the answer, but facilitates your own realization, rather than telling you what to do. She was incredibly encouraging and supportive, and my convictions were even stronger, when we hung up. Betty picked us for a reason. This was my dog. Period. My dream had been to have a therapy dog partner, and, when I looked into the future, I realized that there would be no more special and inspiring therapy dog, than three-legged, wagging-tailed Betty. Bo was upset about the thought of missing out on his dog dog fantasy--he wanted a dog who could play fetch-- a dog who would run on the beach, and sled with our kids, like the vision we had dreamed up. He was concerned about the health, length, and comfort of a life on three legs, and was unsure if this may be a living nightmare for all involved.

     All day, my phone had been buzzing and chirping, with our wonderful friends checking in on our new addition. This thoughtful support was putting me into a tailspin, so I posted an update on Facebook, hoping the "How's the new baby, Mom?!" texts would take a time out.  In no time, I had received dozens of encouraging comments, including advice and offers of aid from multiple friends I had grown up with in horse 4H, who now were in the veterinary field.  In addition to requests to share the xrays with their vets, I received a Christmas Miracle of an offer--as a special case, and with the help of a long time friendship, amputation could be within our financial capabilities (ONE MILLION thanks to Oregon Friends of Shelter Animals). After much agonizing, this incredible opportunity had Bo mostly convinced, by the time he fell asleep.

     Sleep was not in the cards for me. I was nauseous, imaging what Betty's life may hold, should we take 1/4 of her limbs. Would it be heartbreaking, watching her struggle to hop on 3? I stayed awake all night, watching videos of tripods, reading forums, and educating myself on what this could entail. I had my persuasive speech prepared, just short of note-cards, when Bo finally woke, and my heart melted, when he rolled over, put his arm around me, and said, "Let's go get our puppy."