Poor Lytton was hurt in a multiple dog fight a few days ago. Toni had brought her dog over to play, but my boys were not in the mood. Toby is such a playful puppy that he doesn't know when he is being chastised. He thinks it's all in fun. His attempts to get his playmates interested ended up with tempers flaring and a four-way fight ensued. Once the smoke cleared, Lytton was slinking into the living room leaving a trail of blood.
I wasn't able to find the source of the bleeding, but felt that it couldn't be too serious. By nighttime, though, Lytton was obviously in pain, trembling and unable to walk upstairs. In fact, he tripped over such small obstacles as the doorjamb. I carried him up to bed, and after considering a night call to the vet, took a sleeping pill. The next morning he was worse. I envisioned internal injuries and dire consequences. I beat myself up for not calling the vet sooner. My reluctance involved finances. I have been suffering since I lost my job taking care of Greg's dogs and had a very small amount of money to last the next two weeks. Nevertheless, I knew I had to do something. I called and begged for mercy. Kathy agreed to extend credit to me and off we went to Perry.
Well, it turned out that Lytton had a puncture wound on his tail, bruises, and sore muscles. He got a shot of something for pain and within an hour was pretty much his old self. That dog causes me so much worry and anguish. He does not take discomfort well. Far from stoic, he makes mountains out of molehills. And I always think he is at death's door.
My emotions ran the gamut, through concern, dismissal, fear, guilt, panic, and relief. What can I do? I love my best boy.