Oogy_ The Dog Only a Family Could Love - Larry Levin [49]
Because a piece of his jaw is missing, there is not enough bone for his lower lip, a piece of which hangs down like a tiny valance. As a result of the ever-present moisture from inside his mouth, this part of his lip collects all kinds of dust, food, and other detritus that dries into a stiff paste. We routinely remove the gook that collects on the part of his lip where it hangs down. It is as natural to us as petting him. I have told the boys that when they are older, they will recall these reflexive, habitual acts of kindness with great fondness. It is the kind of unique act of loving intimacy that helps forge the connection and the bond. Oogy hates the sensation of having his lip cleaned because we literally have to pull the muck off of him like adhesive tape, but he seems to appreciate the fact that we are willing to do so.
Early one evening during the summer of the year that Oogy’s face was rebuilt, he came hobbling into the house from one of his routine forays out in the yard. He could not put any weight at all on his right rear leg. It was drawn up tight, almost as though it had been suddenly compressed. He hobbled in on the other three and made it as far as the hallway, where he collapsed. All that he could manage to do was lie there, panting. He did not moan or whimper or otherwise vocalize, but his inability to put any weight on his leg was a testament to the pain he was in. He even coughed up some yellow bile. I had some sedatives left over from the prior surgery. I fed him a dose in a piece of meat, and although he would not eat anything more, this helped him to sleep.
That night, I slept on the floor next to him. I knew that if I didn’t, he would risk further injury by climbing up the stairs to be with me, since the boys were away at camp. As much as I was trying to protect him from hurting himself, I was also doing it to make myself feel better, because there was nothing more that I could do for him. I had no pain medicine to give him. As early as I could get Dr. Bianco to see him, I picked Oogy up and carried him to the van, then shot over to the hospital. Ordinarily, Oogy would start whining and yelping when he got within six blocks of the hospital. This time, he lay curled on the floor for the entire trip.
Once we arrived at the hospital, I lifted him out of the van and lugged him up the steps. Inside, he lay on the floor at my feet, panting. When Dr. Bianco appeared, two of the technicians carried Oogy into one of the examination rooms. Dr. Bianco did some manipulations with the leg. “It’s a torn ACL,” he informed me.
“A torn what?” I asked.
“Ligament — his anterior cruciate ligament, or what’s generally called the ACL,” he explained. “He tore it.”
“How’d he do that?” I wondered.
“Who knows? He could have been running in your yard and stepped in a hole. It’s going to have to be surgically repaired.”
“Can you fix it?” I asked.
“No,” Dr. Bianco said. “Unfortunately, compared to the type of surgery Oogy needs, what I do is remove warts.”
Dr. Bianco recommended a hospital some forty minutes away where a specialist performed ACL reconstructive surgery. “With smaller dogs they can actually replace the ACL with fishing line,” he explained. “But given the muscles in Oogy’s leg, this is going to require special surgery. This guy is not cheap, but he’s the best there is. It doesn’t pay to take any chances, especially with a dog as massive and as special as this one.”
It was enough for me that Dr. Bianco had recommended this surgeon as the best option under the circumstances. There was never a question that he always had Oogy’s best interests at heart.
“How much is it going to cost?” I asked. “Do you have any idea?”
“I’m not sure. Probably around fifteen hundred to two thousand dollars.”
I called the hospital and made an appointment. Oogy was evaluated that same afternoon and scheduled for surgery on the next day. When I met with the surgeon, he exchanged no pleasantries or small talk with me. He appeared to exhibit no interest in the animal before him. He