Big Dog, Pig Dog

A disclaimer…I am writing these backwards. (Or, rather, I wrote them previously, but didn’t update the blog. So now I’m doing that. :p)

Hunger strike saga continues:

So, Sam is on piroxicam, tramadol, Prilosec (and prior to that had a week long course of sucralfate), and Thyroxine.

He gets 100 mg of tramadol in the AM and again in the PM. 10 mg of Piroxicam in the AM. Thyroid meds 2x a day. I was TRYING to give him the K9 immunity plus–but no matter what I do, he will not eat them.

I am absolutely struggling to get him to eat anything, and at this point, I am about to lose my sh*t. He has always been a very sporadic eater–some days, he’d just not eat at all. He wasn’t PICKY–meaning IF he’d eat, he’d eat anything. He just never ate much. Not a problem when you are a 95-lb, otherwise totally healthy dog with a very low activity level. Definitely a problem when you are a 70 lb, emaciated, geriatric cancer patient trying to do PT.

For awhile, I could get him to eat a can or three of Fancy Feast. Then, we’d eat a bit of Chef Michael’s kibble. Then it was some other kibble. One day, he’d eat a few bites of chicken breast. It’s just totally scattershot what he’d eat, if anything–I’ve tried a MILLION types of dog food, cat food, people food (baby food and grown up food), things that have zero nutritional value (popsicles, mashed potatoes, etc.), things that are drizzled in ollive oil, hamburger juice, PB. This weekend, he ate pretty much nothing at all, save for 1/3 cup of vanilla ice cream and a crap ton of off-brand milk bones one night.

Yesterday, we ate one hot dog, and…about 16 small-sized dog biscuits (although I did manage  to get him to eat PB on some). This AM, same thing: one hot dog, and 6-8 biscuits with PB. He doesn’t want the Chef Michaels, or the Fancy Feast, or the Pedigree (canned or dry), or his Taste of the WIld or even the chicken breast. Ditto for any of the prescription food.

I am seriously about to lose my sh1t. It can take 30-45 minutes just to get a biscuits in him. I KNOW he isn’t eating enough, but i can’t figure out what to give him. And I don’t think it’s a “lost the will to live” thing at all. His personality is fine; he goes outside; does his “pt”; plays with his toys; humps Sadie; etc. It just the food thing…he’s always been such a stubborn bastard, and that’s EXACTLY what he’s doing now, and I want to f’ing strangle him. :p

I’ve posted elsewhere, but here’s a video of Sampson and Sadie playing in the snow yesterday. (Five weeks post op–April 11)

5 weeks post-amp: Sam and Sadie rumble in the jungle. Er, tundra. Sam and Sadie rumble on the tundra. :p At least there are two creatures left in this state not tired of playing outside in the snow.

A couple of years ago, Pat and I were in Nice, France, staying in a great apartment we had rented in the heart of Old Town. For some odd reason, there seemed to be a parade going on through town–bands, music, people marching and singing and laughing. Huge crowds, and, oddly enough police cars, fire trucks, ambulances, and…taxis and busses (?) were all gathered–but off duty, and bearing signs that said “en greve.” It was like a party at two o’ clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday or some such.

No, it’s not a party. It’s a strike. That’s also a party. And a complaint. With a party. It’s very French.

As it turns out, it was a strike–this particular strike was for the transit workers. And also some types of teachers. And one other group, too, completely unrelated that I can’t recall now but was something non-sequitur seeming, like butchers or haberdashers or somesuch.  But it was all so very jovial and festive. Like we were all on a grand holiday.

Later, talking (stiltedly) with our apartment’s owner, he told us that “August, in France, that is the vacation month. September, that is the month where we have the strikes (en greve!). We want to do eating, sleeping, and fu*king. When they say ‘you cannot retire until 60′? That gets in the way of this! So we strike. Or some of us do. Some others will strike later. We have all month.”

The long and the short of it is, apparently, the French save up their grievances all year, and the have frequent, random airings of them in September–meaning someone is always on strike for some reason, and it’s hard to know who, or why, until, say…you can’t get home from Cannes or Monaco because the bus drivers stopped working in the middle of the day to go on parade and play the maracas in protest and so you assume “Oh, today is clearly the transit workers’ (and middle-school geography teachers…and haberdashers) day to be EN GREVE!.”

Pat channels his inner haberdasher.

So, why am I telling you this? Basically, to set up the very long-winded metaphor which is this: Sampson has an appetite like a French transit worker (or milliner cum educator). You never know when or why he’ll stop eating, but you can count on it being frequent and frustrating.

We stopped with the PT on Friday, as you’ll recall. And while he seems to be more inclined to move…his appetite was still off. He had a few slurps of ice cream Friday night. Some Fancy Feast, but only at random times, and only certain flavors. And wanted nothing to do with hamburger, or chicken, or potatoes. Aside from taking a few bites, and then throwing them up later, in some place I was sure to step in them while making my way down the steps at o’ dark thirty in the morning.

Of course, the PT thinks it’s phantom limb pain and wants to get us on Gabepentin. And our regular vet thinks…nothing, b/c the cheeky monkey is doing a professional development workshop/mountain biking trip in Moab (<—why don’t I find workshops like that???). Eventually, I track down the other vet in the office, and she (like me) thinks NO on the Gabepentin. We decide it is a combo of sore legs, stress over the weather (Sam hates storms…and of course, it’s STILL WINTER STORMING HERE >:/), and stomach upset. So, she puts him on Sucralfate and gives him some prescription food to try.

Last night, he decided to eat some Fancy Feast and chicken (no on the expensive prescription crap, though). And seemed perkier. But then threw up in the middle of the night. This AM, he ate more fancy feast, some cheap canned dog food, and a bit of hamburger. And didn’t APPEAR to throw up (it may be hiding somewhere, though, lurking. He could have put it in the silverware drawer or something, so I squelch into it when I least expect it). And this evening, he ate one can of the scrip food, a Fancy Feast Spinach Florentiene (<—I won’t say what this looks like, but it’s obscene)., and some hamburger. And again, seems to be okay. But he’s been panting and restless…so I don’t know if it’s the storm or what. But at least he ate. And he’s going up and down and up and down and up and down the stairs, so I don’t think he’s hurting too bad.

Tomorrow, my vet’s giving me a call to see what’s up. We’re supposed to go to PT at 5, but I will reserve judgement on that until after I talk with the vet.

Ah, life with an exceptionally stubborn, slightly neurotic dog. He manages to find new ways to confound me, daily 😉

EN GREVE!

There are good days, and there are bad days–and sometimes it’s hard to know who is the one having The Day. 🙂

We are on Day 3 of doing our PT stuff, which includes a walk of 8-10 minutes. Now, Sam was (and still is) ECSTATIC to go on this. About gave himself an apoplexy. And did his first real faceplants of this journey when he discovered that lifting a leg to mark a mailbox is, in fact, the same as lifting a leg to take a pee in the backyard…and that without a supplemental support system, it usually ends in tipping over. 😀 (But, to his credit, he figured that out ASAP, and now leans on things to mark them. Of course, since he is leaning on his “good side” up against the object to be peed upon, it usually heightens the odds of him peeing on himself, but hey…it’s all wet and muddy out anyway. What’s a dribbler or two?)

So, that is good. BUT they completely wore him out–to the point where he could barely stand. And while he recovered after Day 1 fairly quickly, Day 2 was slower. And last night he just didn’t seem to bounce back at all. He didn’t eat (save for a few scoops of ice cream), whined and cried all night, and really didn’t want to move. I tried doing some of his exercises with him, and he just pulled away (more than normal). He was still that way this AM. I managed to get two tiny cans of Fancy Feast in him, but that was it. And he wouldn’t patrol the yard or anything, and his legs just tremble when he stands.

So, of course I am upset and distracted and worried about this, and thinking “OMG, I KNEW PT would make things worse…I have to cancel his upcoming appointments!” or “Holyshitto, is this the end? No! It’s only been a month! HELP!” blah blah blah (or, rather BLAH! BLAH! BLAH!)

BUT…years have therapy have taught me I need to call a mental timeout for myself. Ergo, I am here posting (instead of working, like I should be :p), in order to purge my system and calm my ass down. I am de-certfiying Dr. Google, if you will.

I am taking a moment now to remind myself that “too much, too soon” doesn’t just apply to, say, me going out for a run after 12 weeks of sitting on my butt after my OWN surgery and wondering why my knee feels like it’s on fire and swearing I am next in line for total reconstruction surgery or have some weird muscle-eating disease or something. It can also apply to elderly, already orthopedically impaired, yet still over-zealous dogs who are going on their first few walks post-op and are using muscles they’ve never utilized before.

I am taking a moment to reinforce the idea that, yes…sometimes, the cause of a problem really IS a benign one. (Well, MOST times it is, I suppose…if you want to speak truthfully. BUT I SWEAR TO GOD THAT BHUTRO-BENTABI FEVER CAN OCCUR WITHOUT WARNING, AND WILL EAT YOUR JOINTS ALIVE AND YOU JUST NEVER CAN BE TOO SURE WITHOUT CHECKING GOOGLE.  :p)

Annnnyway…

So, I will give him a rest day, and see what happens. Take a breather. Feed him some hamburger or tuna or cat poop or some other wonderful meal and see if I can’t improve BOTH our spirits. 😀

In fact, we’ve got a new batch of homebrew IPA that’s all ready to go, so maybe we’ll do one (or four) for me; one for my homey tonight. :p (<—JUST KIDDING. I DO NOT GIVE MY DOGS AN ENTIRE BEER. It’s not good for them. And it makes them mic hogs at the karoke machine. :eyeroll:)

I saw a quote today (from Doug Kotavy, writing on behalf of his beloved black lab) that I think is appropriate, and I will remember to repeat to myself: “[You need to] recognize that the days ahead are the icing on the cake of my life. Try not to smear the frosting.”

Relax, don’t worry about what hasn’t happened, and make all of the moments count. Moments wasted on fear and worry and what might happen in the future are just that…moments wasted.

Ah…how time flies. The minutes are long, but the days and weeks and months are short. It’s a bittersweet thing, when you think about it.

The O.G.s (original gangstas) sharing some nappage. Maxxie and Sam both pre-date Pat, so our posse goes way back, yo. :p

(Ed. note: Much of this is also on the forums…)

It’s been four weeks since we received our diagnosis (Wed. March 6); amputation was done the next day. (So technically, it’s NOT our one-month anniversary…we’re actually a day early and a dollar richer, I guess… )

Our two week stint in Florida apparently didn’t phase Sam in the slightest, and Jacqie (our housesitter…and also our vet tech) said he was a peach. He was his normal stubborn self, figuring out how to move the barricades blocking him from the upstairs and downstairs almost immediately and helping himself to the couch, bopping around outside, etc etc. She kept us updated the whole time, and tried really hard to make it sound like he missed us :p (Which we all know is a falsehood, since he is a shameless manwhore and loves to have girlfriends over. And Jacqie spoils ALL of our beasties rotten, so she makes an excellent lady friend. I’m pretty sure they like her better than they like us. :p)

When we got home Sunday night, Sampson was right at there at the door with everyone else, shoving and fighting to get in front of the crowd and see what we brought them. He ran around the house bringing out toys, did the stairs, ate all his food, and, in general, was about as perky and upbeat as I’ve seen him in months.

I thought he was doing great the first two weeks–we had no potty issues (went just fine from the moment we woke up, no face plants or anything), appetite was normal (sporadic, but that’s normal), was able to do stairs (on his own–I tried NOT to let him) right away, etc etc. So even in that first timeframe, I was more pleasantly surprised than not. But the difference between Day 13 and Day 24 was even better. It’s almost like he’s saying, “Well, who knows how much time I have? Not going to waste it sitting around and grousing. Must get back to patrolling the yard and ignoring what people tell me. Priorities, people.”

Here’s a video from Tuesday. Not overly exciting, but you see some running, peeing, playing, poo-sniffing…you know, all the major bases. :p

Day 26 post-op

Anywhoooo…Yesterday, we went to our first PT visit. Our challenge is to get him to really start using his back legs independently, and to help build his core strength. Because of his dysplasia and arthritis, he bunny hops most of the time…the regimine is designed to get him to build up some muscle and flexibility and ease some of that. This is the first time I get to be the harsh taskmaster instead of the one DOING the PT! :p

The orthopedic surgeon who did the initial eval was H.O.T., so we had that going for us right off the bat. 😀 And the PT himself was wonderful. Supportive, yet stern, very helpful. We did a lot of ROM stuff (well, more passive ROM, I guess), some massage, some footwork drills, and then we got to use the water treadmill. Fun!

FWIW, I didn’t get any pictures AT therapy, but if you’ve ever seen a skinny, elderly, mostly bald, three-legged, chupacabra in a swimming pool…well, that pretty much sums up our visit, so no photos needed.

Today is suture removal (we left them in over vacation, as we had one little section that just wouldn’t close  up). The incision looks fine. While we were gone, there was some OCD lickage of the area, so he’s got some raw gross patches, but I think taking the stitches out will help.

That’s about it for now. I’ll leave you with a lovely image of our youngest cat, Finnegan the Naughty. We just had his first birthday on St. Pat’s. He’s got four legs (and puts each and every one of them to mischievous merrymaking every waking moment of his day), but I figure he’s cute enough to put in an appearance.

We are now at two weeks, two days post op. I am actually in Florida right now, leaving Sam-dog (and his feline and canine siblings) in the very capable hands of our house sitter. We are super super lucky in that Jacqie, who watches our house, is also a vet tech–and more specifically, a vet tech at our office. She was in charge of Sam’s anesthesia and everything during his surgery.

The weather continues its ups, downs, and sidewayses here in Minnesota. And while I don’t care overmuch (I mean, I CARE, it’s some sort of Midwestern birthright to grouse about the winter but yet never leave for warmer climes), it does make Sampson’s recovery slower.

Last night, though it was a bit warmer–35 or so, with bright sun all day, so the formerly crusty snow and ice turned a bit softer and easier to navigate (well, relatively speaking. It was deep, slushy, and unwieldy, as opposed to deep, sharp, and slippery. :p). At any rate, I decided the marginally less perilous footing was a good time to take the dogs out to potty sans leash. Sam has been trying to sprint at random times, and it’s easier for him to do that than it is for me to (yeah, it pains me to say that. My geriatric, three-legged dog can out run me. 😀 Oh, how the mighty have fallen…). So…we went out, supervised still, and me hovering nearby, but off-lead.

Once he figured it out, he took off, straight for the wooded area of the yard where he pooped in privacy for the first time in a week 😀 We did two more trips outside last night–both supervised, but off lead. He seemed pretty happy with himself. 🙂 As my husband said, “Go let him be a dog. You’re not making him do ten flights of stairs or run five miles. He can handle this, and if he’s not ready, we get the leash out again.”

This AM we had freezing rain, always a lovely weather feature. 6 AM, freezing rain, darkness, a three-legged dog, and some artificial decking…HILARITY ENSUES! Not really. But it wasn’t too bad, actually. He squinted at it and balked a bit coming back in, but eventually I coaxed him up. And again, I’m pretty sure he navigated it better than I did. BUT HE HAS THREE LEGS AND GRIPPY CLAWS. I am just a pinky, hairless, helpless baby rat to him in that regard :p

Only other update:  We added Tramadol–not for the OSA pain or the amp pain, but more for the pain in his hips. We’ll see if it helps him sleep a bit better. If it does, great. If not, no harm done.

Also, I discussed the possibility of metronomics with my vet, since we are already on Piroxicam. And, after a long and winding conversation, we ended back where we had been. We’re going to just stick with the Piroxicam (and tramadol, maybe), the K9 Immunity Plus, and the glucosamine/chondroitin. The vet feels–and I agree, that any chance of gains we’d get would be offset by the possible risks and associated bloodwork/clinic visits, etc.

It’s hard, I think, in this era of modern medicine to know when to say when. There are options galore, and so many things you CAN do (or try, I guess, is the better choice. Sorry, Yoda, but sometimes, there IS no do or do not, only “try” ;-)). But that doesn’t mean you always SHOULD do them. Sometimes more is just…more, not better.

Every situation is different. And even though I know we’re doing the right thing…the good thing, the be happy, be loved, “be more dog,” thing…eh, some days, it’s hard to reconcile the on-paper right thing with the in-practice right thing.

Short post now…I’ll update later. (Totally  taking advantage of the high-powered internet to upload videos while at work :p)

For those of you interested in seeing how an almost-13-year-old, large breed, arthritic/dysplastic dog with a skin condition and moderate heart murmur handles a rutted, frozen tundra of a hilly yard 6 days post-op, here you go:

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10151362369521262&l=8305027091258799043

He handles the uneven ground and ice better than I do, in many cases. He’s also brave enough to run on it–which I am forced to do, as well. First running I’ve done since my own leg surgery in January, so it was trial by fire for both of us. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to take me out, in retribution. 😀

So, I got a late start on the blog, but wanted to give some daily updates. Here they are, in condensed format!

O3.06.13 (Wednesday)–diagnosis, decision to amputate.

For us, the decision to amputate was not a hard one at all. Animals are VERY resilient creatures. SAM doesn’t care that he only has three legs. Life is what it is for him. There’s pain, and it’s a bad day (I want to sleep leave me alone I hurt and nothing is fun). And then, there’s no pain, and it’s a good one (LIFE IS GOOD! LET’S EAT POOP! YAY!) Animals are remarkably adaptable b/c they don’t give two sh1tz about regret or how other people see them or what they CAN’T do anymore.

He had no (apparent) lung mets, and although he is older, he was otherwise happy and healthy. Taking the leg off gives him a few more pain-free months. Maybe it’s two, maybe it’s six. Maybe we’ll REALLY beat the odds and get 12. Had he had mets, it would have been a harder decision…but in this case, it was a relatively inexpensive thing to do for him, and it took away his pain.

03.07.13 (Thursday)–Surgery

A couple of pre op videos here:

https://www.dropbox.com/s/4fszaah27thiv69/2013-03-07%2007.17.45.mp4

https://www.dropbox.com/s/ow715rxso5p50g1/2013-03-07%2007.38.10.mp4

He came through the surgery just fine–no issues at all (always a concern when you have a geriatric dog with a heart murmur undergoing anesthesia). They did have to give him morphine, which like many of the spitz/arctic breeds, he always has a poor reaction to and we generally avoid. I stopped in to see him on my way home last night, and he was super doped, and howling like a maniac. If you’ve ever had a dog who gets morphine crazies (or a person, for that matter), it’s a disturbing sight. Very wild-eyed, confused, and terrible, terrible yowling/howling/yelping. Add to it he couldn’t get up, and didn’t seem to understand why, and all the other dogs in the kennels weer going insane… eh, it was hard to see.

BUT–he had just gotten a sedative, and would be asleep soon. Plus, morphine crazies, while painful for US…don’t really stick in their minds, so he’ll be fine, once that wears off and we can scale him back to less potent painkillers.

03.o8.13/03.09.13 (Friday night/Saturday AM)–homecoming!

First few minutes home: https://www.dropbox.com/s/fll4hxiwe06cegk/2013-03-08%2018.03.33.mp4

After the first hour of having him home, I was ready to pull my hair out, cry, yell, or all of the above. It was hard. Frustrating watching him struggle. Frustrating he won’t listen and is SO not tractable (typical akita behavior…”I do what *I* want. I don’t CARE if it’s painful to sit face down in the snow. YOU don’t tell me to come inside. *I* tell me.” ). Frustrating I have to try and wrangle my other dog who wants to tear his throat out (dominance issues, much?). Frustrating b/c it hurts me to have him hurt, and b/c he IS old, and he IS only going to have a few, six, 12, more months with us b/c of the cancer so of course I worry I cocked up with this decision. And that’s all in an hour. :p

ANYWAY: We have no drains or no bandages, so that makes it a bit easier than some folks have it. I slept on the floor in the living room with him last night–not that anyone actually slept. He just whimpered and shook ALL. NIGHT. By 5-6 AM, he was crying out loud again. He finally drifted off at like 7 AM or so for a bit. The only time he calmed a bit was when I’d put a hand on him, which is why I KNOW he was freaked, b/c he’s just not a touchy-touchy sort of dog (again, with the akita personality–loves his people, loves being NEAR you, just not a snuggler. NO TOUCHING!). He got his piroxicam this AM  at like 8:30 with his breakfast, and went out to pee, and is sleeping now.

And I know from what everyone has said the phases we”ll go through, and I know it’s not unusual…but it’s a lot easier to think about IN THEORY than it is to see in practice. We are at that stage where he just looks miserable and is shuffling about…and even though I KNOW I did the right thing, it sure doesn’t seem like it right now.

BUT he is home, and this will pass. It will be several long days…but it will pass. Like I found out with my own major surgeries, and those of people I am close to…the minutes and hours are long, but the days and weeks are short. It will pass.

(I WILL however, make a friendly, helpful suggestion: if you ever find yourself having to have someone amputate the front limb of an elderly dog and then bring him home (the amputee, not the amputor)…might I suggest summer as the more optimal time? You know, not when there is 18 inches of wet, gross snow on the ground with ice underneath? :D)

Here are pics picture from when he was sleeping when he came home (see, I TOLD you he is bald! He only has some of those coarse guard hairs left. But he is still pretty on the inside ;-))

03.09.13 (Saturday EVENING; 48 hours post-op)

We did our first lap around the back yard (well, except we stayed out of the woods/underbrush)  The snow/ice is bad on the deck and steps, but in the yard, it actually makes a nice side support No slippage on the hills…and a soft landing when we accidentally faceplant. Er, I mean…look underneath the top of the snow for small woodland creatures.

The yard’s about an acre, and filled with wet, 12-18-inch deep snow, so it wasn’t an easy hop…but Sam seemed to enjoy “patrolling” his territory, despite it being a slow and tiring trip (and chilly, for us humans  ). And, true to form, he got stubborn on me when I decided it was time to go back in (he was shivering and panting pretty hard). We got in, though. And actually made it up the deck steps w/out taking a digger.

Here he is, “sharing” his bed with Momo, our CRF kitty:

03.11.13 (Sunday)

During his first stretch of “unsupervised time,” we had a minor scare when he knocked down the baby gates and decide to go up two flights of stairs while I was in the basement riding my bike. So then he was upstairs, and couldn’t/wouldn’t come down… and I needed to finish my ride. Eventually, I just locked him in the bedroom, finished my ride, and then when Pat (DH) came home, we sort of helped him down the stairs together. Lesson: Sam is okay going UP. Down is still a problem.

Minor victory: tonight night, Sam got up and walked into the front hall and got a toy out of the toy box. First time he’s initiated any sort of activity on his own. It WAS kind of funny/sad  to watch him try and chew up his cardboard (yes, I know, fabulous toy…cardboard ) with only one paw instead of two (he normally holds it between his paws). You could see him pushing down with his right leg, and his little stump was moving like he was using his left leg to push it down, too… and then he’d get this look on his face like, “Huh. WTF. This left leg is TOTALLY not doing anything…”

03.12.13 (Monday)

Since today I had to go to work, and he obviously will not stand for baby gates when left unattended…we had to come up with something to trap him on the main level (of course, this also means that they ALL are trapped here, the four cats and teh other dog…but they’ll figure it out. And if the cats weren’t so lazy, they’d figure out how to get over the barricade.).

Here was our engineering project this AM:

Tonight was one of those nights where you take a few steps back for all the ones you have taken forward. He was sullen and crabby, didn’t want food or water, and despite the fact that he could barely stand, REFUSED to come inside. And then he paid for it. Swollen amp site, about 10% back leg function, crying all night. And while I know how he feels…I want to bitchslap him. 😀

This is what it got us (stumpy, lumpy, and drippy…like three of the 7 dwarves, but grosser):

So…Sampson T. Wonder Dog is 12 years, 8 months old. His dad was a sweet-tempered Akita and his mother was a sleek, short-coated, black and tan GSD/Dobie cross.  Sammer himself was one of 13 young puppies left at the Dane County (WI) Humane Society as a result of a hoarding/cruelty situation. Also surrendered were members of the previous litter…which is how I found him–I had been looking for a large-breed dog, particularly a GSD or Akita, and I saw one dog I liked, about 7 months old, but he was on hold. The shelter worker said, if you like him…come with me–there’s a litter of his full siblings, just ready for adoption today.

Out of that group, nine were black with tan, short coated puppies like his mom. Three were not–I chose one of those, and he became Sampson.

In my mind, I wanted a dog who would go running with me, eventually, and do all sorts of frolicky-type activities. What I got was a philodendron with fur. Which, as it turns out, was exactly what I needed (Thank you Rolling Stones). He is a sweet-tempered gent, slightly twitchy and neurotic (which he TOTALLY doesn’t get from me ;-)), but has always been content to amble along and occasionally hump a golden retriever at the dog park.

In many ways, he is very much his father’s son–sweet-tempered, but he has the akita aloofness, for sure. He’s never been a snuggler, but he always wants to be near you. And while he’s not a boundary-pusher, per se, he is STUBBORN. Which, since he’s so mellow, is usually not an issue. Oooh, but when he decides he wants (or usually doesn’t want) to do something, it’s like moving Ferdinand the Bull. He is just going to sit there, munching his daisies, and decide to do whatever on his own sweet time. He can dig his feet in, pin his ears back, and give you the stink eye like no one’s business. (Sam has “the stink eye” and “the crazy eye.” Beware of both.)

He is NOT animal aggressive in any way, however…and eventually, he was joined by siblings Maxxie cat (age 11, brown tabby); Frank (10, orange tabby); Momo (9, fatty bombatty black cat); Sadie the dog (7 year old GSD mix, whois probably the reason female dogs are called what they are); and finally, Finnegan the Naughty (1-year-old Devil in a Tuxedo-colored kitten suit). In between Maxxie and Frank, I also acquired Patrick, my long suffering human companion and now DH.

So…that brings us up to now: on March 6, Sam was diagnosed with bone cancer; we amputated his left front leg the next day. TA-DA!

This blog is worthless without pics, and so we shall get to those shortly!