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Some of you may remember the problems we were having with Trouble this summer. When we returned from China earlier this year, Trouble started having these attacks. He would just start screaming. Not yelping. I mean screaming. It sounded exactly what I imagined it would sound like if he got his foot chopped off solid. No joke. And to add insult to injury, it would last 30 long, agonizing seconds. It was absolutely heartbreaking to watch.
We took him to the vet and they thought it was his spine. A couple weeks later, Lindsay stayed home and I left for Africa — and he was having these 30 grueling seconds attacks almost every day.
Long story short, Trouble needed surgery — and it was a near $10,000 bill. Lindsay was all alone on the other side of the world waiting for me to wake up so she could tell me the bill of the surgery — as I wasn’t there for that vet visit — and double check that we would be able to do it. She spent that half of the day in tears as she didn’t have certainty about what we would do until she could talk to me. She ended up calling me in Africa around 4:30am balling. She told me the story, how the vet explained to her that two young people with a kid on the way are still great pet owners even if they have to do the unthinkable (put their pet down), and, without putting pressure on me, waited to hear what I had to say about going forward. I almost feel silly admitting I didn’t even have to ask myself if we would do it. I’m not one who believes that animals are of the same value as humans — but that said, we just love our dogs so much. And even if I didn’t, I’d be worried what the stress of losing Trouble would do to Lindsay and our pregnancy. It was a no-brainer that so long as Trouble wouldn’t be put through too much (to where his quality of life was badly effected by the surgery), we would do it.
Well, the day we went in to the specialist, he told us great news… and bad news. The great news? His spine was NOT the problem. The bad news? He really didn’t know what the problem was. He had a feeling it was something in Trouble’s wrist — so we left while they put him under to do stress x-rays and joint taps. We came back a few hours later — still nothing. He told us to monitor him 24/7 and bring him back if it continued — and then they’d go from there. We left bewildered…
We watched him 24/7. And I mean 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. If we left, I set up cameras to record inside and outside — and I’d review EVERY second just to be sure he didn’t have another attack. The vet told us that if we continued to look after him properly, and that if he didn’t have an episode for a couple months, then it’d be safe to say that whatever it was would just be gone.
Here we are a couple months later without a single attack. The way he’d run to me while having an attack, then collapse at my feet while I was completely incapable of helping him? I’m so thankful I haven’t had to go through that (or him go through that). In the end we spent several grand on Trouble for “nothing”. We never found out what was wrong with him. We weren’t given any medicine to fix him. He just got better. It’d be so easy to look at that as wasted money or think “woe is me” — but compared to the unknown of much worse happening to Trouble (not to mention a lot more money), I think I’ll be grateful for losing that money without ever knowing what was wrong while Trouble is where he is today — happy, dumb as a rug, and sweet as can be :)

Let’s be honest… how can you turn down a dog that looks this cute/happy/satisfied with an empty 7-up box :)
Bobby
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by Bobby Earle
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