Bad Day for the Oz Man

When you start your day, you often think you know how it will go.  You've made plans, have an idea of what needs to be done, etc.  Inevitably things happen, or change, or get in the way of those plans.  Take today, for instance.

We were going to the pet store to get some birthday stuff for Cooper, my sister's Jack Russell.  She's driving down this weekend and I figured I could send his toys back with her--his birthday is next week.  We also had to hit Michael's to get some things to finish the last of the pictures we want to hang.

So, as we're preparing to leave, I see Ozzy, gazing forlornly out the front window.  We were just going to dash down the mountain and come right back, but honestly, could anyone resist this pathetic wee creature..??  I put down my purse and grabbed my camera.

He heard me take his picture, turned to give me a look, then went back to window gazing.  Well, hell.  Of course, he had to come with us.

We raced into Michael's, got our stuff in record time, then went across the mall parking lot to the pet store.  Ozzy, of course, could go in with us.  We're wandering down the toy aisle when suddenly Oz started screaming like someone had stabbed him.  He cried and writhed around and totally freaked me out.  I quickly dropped to the floor, trying to figure out what had happened, but the minute I touched him he started crying and yelping.  I took off his harness, thinking maybe there was a burr or something that was gouging him.  Nothing.  When I tried to pick him up, more screaming.  It was totally horrible.  After a few minutes, he calmed down and I was able to carry him.  Needless to say, we left the store and came home immediately.

He cried briefly when I lifted him out of the car, but then raced up the stairs like nothing was wrong.  We were stymied.  He had his lunch, no problem, but afterward he kept making little squeaking noises.  Now, this isn't out of the ordinary for him.  When he thinks it's time for a walk, he doesn't hesitate with the "poor me, take me to the park" stuff.  We decide to go to the park earlier than usual in the hope that will settle him down.

Into the car, no issues; get drive-thru coffee, all is good; then when I lift him out of the car at the park, he screams like I've just zapped him with a cattle prod.  I gently set him down, and he promptly runs across the grass like life is groovy.  Cripes.  Mystified, Alan and I sit at a picnic table while I call the vet on my cell.  They say it might be his back and bring him in for x-rays.  At this point he's laying in the grass, and seems none the worse for wear, and as we are only five minutes from the vet, we figure we can finish our coffee.  I take one sip, and as Ozzy rises from his laying down position, he staggers, and suddenly his back legs give out and he's flailing.  Alan and I forget the coffee and head for the vet.

Long story, short.  After the x-rays, the vet determined that Ozzy apparently, somehow, wrenched his back, probably slipping and/or twisting on the slick floors at the pet store.  I didn't see him do that, but whatever happened, it happened there.  His x-rays looked good, though he has slight deterioration in two discs--mainly because he's getting older--but no spinal injuries or anything crippling or horrifying.

He is now restricted from all walks, has to be carried down the stairs to the backyard, and is not allowed to jump up on the couch, the bed, or do anything really, except rest.  I looked at the vet in total disbelief.  He laughed and said, "I know, I know, but he has to rest for at least a week."  He's on anti-inflammatory meds, though not steroids, thank goodness for small favors, but when he feels better, heaven help us.  He really, really loves his walks, and trips to the park.

We came home and Alan immediately had to head back down the mountain to buy this:

The only option we have to keep Ozzy from going up or down the stairs.  Course, this means I have to go out the front door, down the steps, and through the garage to get to the laundry room, but hey, it's only for a week...right...??

Here's the poor wee guy this afternoon.  He is definitely having a bad day.  I think hiding behind the couch makes him feel better.  Not a happy doggy.

So.  The things I thought I would accomplish today have been blown out of the water, Ozzy is in painful misery, we now have an attractive new decoration: a baby gate, and who would have thought when the day started, that it would end this way..??  Best laid plans, and all that rubbish.