You might think this is some kind of word play, or hypothetical scenerio. But its not. Someone shot my dog.
We found this out because Darwin, our beloved family dog, has been having some problems with his back legs. So the vet suggested we get a series of x rays taken to check and see what is causing it.
The vet came out for the consult, and told me the news…he might have a disc problem, but no pain, no arthritis. “Good”, I thought. Then, she dropped the bomb.
“When did he get shot?”
Excuse me, did she say shot?
“He was shot?” I asked.
“He has a bullet in his right front shoulder blade. Looks like it’s been there for quite a while.”
After I pulled my chin up off the floor, she offered to show me the x ray. Sure enough, there it was, literally, in black and white. She suggested it was a b b, or maybe a piece of buckshot. It was clear as day, right there. In my dog.
We have had Darwin since he was three months old. And since before joining our home he was a street dog in Hong Kong, where guns are kinda nonexistent, I am assuming it happened after he came to our family.
And therein lies the part that makes me feel crappy. How did I not notice that someone had shot my dog? I’m not saying it happened on purpose, or that if it did he didn’t maybe deserve it. But regardless of why or how, how on earth did I not notice? I am polishing my Mother of the Year Crown as we speak.
Of course, the boys think that he is the toughest dog in the world. If there was any way for them to high five him they would. He has reached a whole new level of coolness in their eyes. I guess in mine too.
I guess the makes the unanswerable question, who the f@%& shot my dog?
The Blahg 