I’m not kidding about the “old Sport” business. Sport is OLD – Sixteen years old, to be more specific. The story as I heard it was that Sport’s owner (no spring chicken himself) died, and the surviving members of his family didn’t seem to have it together when it came to Sport, because this old man wandered off and got picked up by the SPCA as a stray. I have no idea how long he was Littlest Hobo-ing it on the road, but by the looks of him, it must have been about 4 days shy of FOREVER.
Sport is completely emaciated. I’m not talking skinny, I’m talking bones-with-fur. The fact that he can walk never fails to amaze me. The fact that he survived his neuter surgery on Friday is nothing short of miraculous.
He is probably 15 lbs or more underweight. He also has the worst case of flea-bite dermatitis I have ever seen, the world’s yeastiest ears, and a tumour on his ass (attractive, no?). Sport is not winning any physicality awards in the near future. I would like to believe that his elderly owner let him deteriorate like this because he was infirm himself and that his surviving family were so overwhelmed with grief that they couldn’t care for Sport too. Because I would hate to think anyone would willfully neglect a dog like this.
They (the family) did not retrieve him from the shelter. They felt he should “go to God” and be with his owner. The shelter felt he might be better off “going to TDBCR.” And I’m a sucker for an old dog, so guess who got Sport? :)
I feel robbed of the precious years I was to spend with Briggs in his old age. He died much too young. Perhaps I can make up for that with Sport.
Sport is a real sweetie. I gather he was not eating at the shelter, or at his temporary residence in the vet clinic, post surgery. Then his interim foster home, who held him overnight for me, bought him 17 different varieties of canned food and Sport settled on something disgusting called “Lean Cuts” as his meal of choice – if offered on a spoon.
Ah, but Sport is no dummy. My first order of business with all dogs, especially those that are ailing, is to switch ’em to raw. I put down a plate of ground chicken mixed with Lean Cuts and Mr. Sporticus promptly ate all the chicken and politely left the Lean Cuts behind. Mr. Woo thinks Sport is a real idiot.
Anyway, there’s my secret – we are Three Woofs and a Woo once again. At least temporarily. Because while I would love to offer Sport a retirement home here at Casa de Food Lady, I also realize that my oldest dog is half Sport’s age. And Sport might like to have someone who is around in the day to spend time with, something I can’t really offer him (until someone starts subsidizing my life, that is). But for the next while, at least, Sport is here to stay and hopefully improve.
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