The surgeon said she’d like to have us see him, I suppose so we know what we’re getting into. She’ll probably ask how we handled it. I think they are a little skeptical about us because Tate is our very first dog. And she said they’d give him his pain meds right after we left to put him to sleep. So we went.
The most surprising thing for us was how small he looked. I mean, besides the big chunk that is missing. He’s wrapped up in a full-body mesh bandage that smashed down all his fluffy fur. Plus he’s all kind of hunched up. And I didn’t know a dog’s face could look haggard but it did.
I don’t think he was happy to see us, he just wanted to go home. He hobbled (I would not call it a hop) right past us to the door. He was panting and crying. But we got him to lay down on the blanket with us and he settled a bit while we pet him and talked to him. When Dad would stop petting him, he’d push Dad’s hand with his muzzle and press up against him. And then after awhile he struggled to his feet and headed for the door again. So we thought it best to leave. At least he wagged his tail when we were petting him good-bye.
I’d like to think he’ll be happier at home but I have a feeling he’s just going to be this miserable for awhile before he gets better. But we’ll feel better having him at home. Poor little guy.