We've reached the cone of shame stage - the lure of itchy sutures and softly weeping incision is too much to resist.
I also think we overdid it a bit today with an off-leash session into the forest.
On Monday, Rosco had his left fore amputated. Might be cancer, might be something else - we wait for the biopsy results to come back. In the previous three weeks, his lameness was held in check by good painkillers but radiographically, something akin to PacMan was munching through the proximal shaft of his ulna.
We could wait and watch as his bone exploded.
We could wait and watch for a spontaneous fracture.
We could amputate prophylactically.
Not really much of a choice, so we opted to turn our geriatric rescue dog into a tripawd.
Neither Rosco's vet nor I found this an easy decision to make. It's quite one thing to read about osteosarcoma and similar in a text book, but faced with real life fur it is one emotional rollercoaster. Throw in the fact that we've only had Rosco for around six months, he's a rescue and all the financial stuff ... oh my :(
Rosco has been an absolute gift ever since I got him. He sits next to my desk, keeping me company while I work at home. He's a delightful hiking companion for short trots around the neighbourhood. He sings back at you. He gives awesome kisses. He's a true gentleman at the weekend, waiting until a decent lie in before wanting to go out. He adores me. I want him to have a good shot at a few more years since he seems to love his new life with us.
So screw the cost.
I just hope he adapts to losing his spare leg.
And now he's at cone of shame stage, and I'm feeling even more guilty for what I'm putting him through.
