My Poor Little Baby Boy.

Murphy went to the vet today for a much needed dental cleaning and extraction of a couple of teeth that the vet was already sure needed to go. She took x-rays after putting him under anesthesia and called me with the bad news: ALL of Murphy's teeth are very, very bad, he's lucky he doesn't have any active abscesses or systemic infection yet. He will, very soon, if we don't do something now. He does have bone loss, and bad molars with very long roots - too long for her to remove. She said she'll do what she can, and after he heals from today's surgery he'll have to go to a specialist to remove the ones she doesn't feel qualified to do. She's afraid if she messed up, she'd break his jaw. She sounded grim and very concerned.

I absorbed the shock of this news slowly - I'd dropped him off already expecting him to lose a few teeth, but come home with the remaining ones clean and functional. I knew his teeth were bad and his gums were bleeding on occasion, because some mornings I'd find stains on the sheets from watery, blood-tinged drool, but I thought it was from the teeth we knew were bad. I had no idea that all of them were this severely affected - she didn't either until she reviewed the x-rays. But of course, what can you say when you get this news? "No, don't, let's leave him with rotting teeth until he has an infection?" I told the vet to proceed, and she said I'd get an update when he was out of surgery and awake again.

In addition to absorbing the expense of this - we're looking at around $1000 just for this part of the process - I'm feeling sad that this has happened to my Bossy Little Dog. Just last night I was walking both dogs around the neighborhood and a neighbor I hadn't met had to stop and fuss over them. He was a very senior gent who leaned on a cane, and he adored Murphy, petted him and fussed over him, and asked his age. When I told him that Murphy was 12, he was amazed - Murphy was in full puppy mode for him and looks much younger than his years. After our visit Murphy trotted toward home, head up, strutting, the picture of a happy little dog who knew he'd just brought some happiness into a nice man's life. This morning we walked around the block and he led the way - his poop has been runny again of late, and I know that's not good, but he obviously felt fine and looks like a healthy, energetic little dog. When we got home he turned up our driveway with total confidence and led me to our stairs. This still amazes me, because it took me a few weeks to figure out which building was mine at night, and I still have to look for landmarks or read the numbers at times. He never hesitates, he knows where he lives now. He has appointed himself the official greeter of the neighborhood, and nothing makes him happier than making a new friend, like that dear old guy last night.

So I took my happy little fella to the vet for what I thought was going to be fairly routine dental work, and he'll be coming home almost entirely toothless, and with another round of surgery looming in his future. When we spoke this morning the vet thought he'd be able to come home at the end of the day, even after many more extractions than we'd originally anticipated, but the tech called me around 3 to say he was awake and alert, but they had him on IV fluids and meds and they'd keep him overnight. The tech also reported that he had diarrhea while under anesthesia. He may have looked and acted like a healthy little dog with bad breath, but he's been soldiering on through a host of serious issues.

I will call in the morning to see how he did last night, and pick him up sometime tomorrow. Sophie and I are feeling lost without our Alpha Dog. She is in his crate - not sleeping, but just flopped there, looking mournful. I need to give her a lot of extra TLC tonight, and we'll both be glad when Murphy is home again and feeling better.

And of course the Ancient Cat Screams On. He's never been sick a day in his life, he's winding down in extreme old age, and other than the blood work I had done last fall to diagnose him, I've never dropped a dime on him in vet bills. Maybe that's why he thinks I should feed him fresh seafood prepared by a chef - he's never cost me a grand in vet bills in his life.

I'm joking, but I'm sad. My poor little toothless boy.