Hang On Sloopy, Sloopy Hang On!

Buddy seems so feeble. Scott carries him to the car and places him on a beach towel across the back seat of the truck. We drive grimly to the vet's office in silence.

The vet is very nice and very concerned. His assistant is so sweet to Buddy. But no one can say for sure whether Bud will be swimming with us in the channel next week or in a big hole in the back yard. They can tell us:

1 - He's old. (No shit.)
2 - He has Lyme Disease. (We know. He has for years. You diagnosed it here...)
3 - He's big and therefore will have some physical problems little dogs avoid.
4 - There are about $200 worth of prescriptions we can buy to help him feel more comfortable
5 - We can do an elder-care plan for caring for Buddy into his twilight years. (Let's call him Buddy Ebsen)

Yes to the scripts, No to the geriatric veterinary care, $295 in cash and Buddy is running to the car with his leash in his mouth to ride home with his head out the window. Go figure.

Scott's girls are relieved but panicked about what might have been.

They want to know if we can go to the pound to look at dogs in case we lose him.

I thought Green Acres was downsizing at some point. I guess not.

We pile into the car and ride to the animal shelter. We pass the desk and the multiple doors designed to prevent escapes. We mosey into the dog area.

Pit Bull. No thank you.
Rotty with half an ear. Umm. No.
Aging Boxer with a lousy disposition. Next!
Mixed breed that appears to be ill. When did they stop calling them mutts?
Nasty barky Big Dog I didn't stand in front of long enough to catch the breed (or get my face gnawed off).

Let's try the cat room.