I’m a four-hundred-mile dog! I think that if you made a bio pic of my life, then this would be that pivotal scene where I went from a goofy and unfocused dog to a driven overachiever on his way to the top of the world: Rocky, Rudy, and Oscar. The scene would open with me running in Z’s checking over my shoulder for danger every 20 seconds, and running a relaxed pace next to poky old Mom; smiling like a dope with my tongue hanging out, and in general just messing around. But when we got to the turn-around point and Mom said “Abooooout FACE!” that’s when the music would start to swell and the thrumming inspirational beat would drop. I stopped looking over my shoulder for bikes, pinned my ears back, put a steady pressure on the leash and tore off toward home.
You reach a point in your life where you realize that the best path is the road less traveled. Instead of running on the main path with all the scary bikes, rollerbladers and old men, we ran through a tree farm that goes parallel to the trail for a half mile. I wasn’t distracted by the smell of the wood chips piled 3 Oscars high or anything! I was a machine, laser-focused on my objective: to get home for some of NotMom’s eggs. We burst through the door at 6:32, which is earlier than usual…
…but then it became a very different movie. NotMom had already finished all the eggs and given my portion to my sister. I was no longer the star of some American underdog hero story, I was starring in some bleak foreign independent drama; the kind that’s too depressing to even cry. I lay down on the floor with a heart too heavy to get up.
If Mom were able to run like she could a couple of years ago, we would have been home 10-12 minutes sooner after covering the same distance, and I wouldn’t have missed my eggs. So I made an appointment for her to go to the vet. People can’t always tell you when they’re suffering, so you have to pay attention to changes in their behavior…
-Dr. Oscar the Pooch, DPM (doctor in people medicine)
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