Sounds like a song title, and it probably is.
Flash dog turned twelve this summer. He's still crazy and obsessed, just not as long. Still loves to charge around for the frisbee and ball and do his tricks like a frisky young pup, but come nighttime, he's a stiff old boy. He's had an intermittent limp for the last six months or so, and it's getting worse. So I hauled him into the vet's again this morning to examine his leg further.
So today he's consulting with an orthopedic specialist and getting x-rays. Of course, $400 just for that - no diagnosis or treatment yet. Ah well. What can you do?
He's been my faithful companion since he was seven weeks old. There was a time when he understood more words than Henry, then it was like having two toddlers, one of whom barked. There were some very trying days during that period and I went so far as to investigate another family for him (Flash, not Henry), but we learned to get along as a pack. My dream was to one day sit on the front porch and watch them play together, and that's now a reality. Flash is happy and snappy and wimpy and limpy and lovey and shovy all at the same time, to which I definitely relate. He's a good dog.
classic Flash shot
Leaving the vet's, I had to tear myself away from a flyer that read: "Want to raise and show a pig?" I would dearly love to raise a pig -- thank god for suburban CC&R's.
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