Dog vs. CAT.

As you may recall, our beloved effervescent knucklehead Nipper was lost to us at the age of four last February, concluding the trifecta of February crap that has plagued us for the last three years ('19, concussion; '20; hospitalization for back injury; '21, sweet dog gone from lymphoma too soon). When we heard of another puppy available this past summer, we decided we had to get him, lest we lose our momentum and just get old with ol' Tralfaz (he's a story for another time). 

So we have Izzy, the baby who just turned seven months old, fresh as a yellow dandelion and bouncy as a crate of Tiggers, and guess what? I have to take him for a CAT scan on Monday. 

No, not that type.

Looks like hip and elbow dysplasia. This was all very surprising. We got him from a responsible person who checks back four generations for these kinds of conditions, since developing them at a young age usually means inheritance, and there was no sign of this. His eight littermates are perfectly normal. And we can't help but think his continued bad puppy behavior (biting, mostly) may be linked to the possibility that he's just in pain, even though he's now on the (non-cheap) painkiller/anti-inflammatory Galliprant. 

It all started when we noticed him limping in October, and now Monday morning I have to drive the poor dude to an animal hospital in Jersey to be sedated and have his elbows scanned. This following the $1,400 worth of X-rays he already got from our local vet. I will say, though, his upcoming CAT scan is about 10 percent of the cost of the ones I got when I was laid up in '20.

The lady we got him from is willing to take him back, full refund, but it's too late now. We love him, and his behavior is not a danger to himself or others, so we have to see this through. Wish us luck--when he is good he is very very good, and that's the boy we want to nurture and free from pain.