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This is my spook
boy, Razor
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When I first met him, I was impressed by his beautiful eyes. I was drawn to him because he was so afraid of everyone and everything, all I wanted to do was take care of him. Taking care of him was a little more difficult than I originally thought! Once he was home, it was like having a half-grown wild deer living with me. I couldn't touch him, couldn't get near him, without him bolting through a door and trying to escape. It was great fun! I adopted Razor and Shy at the same time. Shy had been in a home before, so she knew the basics and I'm sure that helped Razor. He would follow her around, eat when she ate, go outside when she went outside. But once outside, the problems began! He wouldn't come back in the house, and it was cold outside in Denver in March. It's our snowiest month, and this crazy dog would not come back in the house. My roommate would let him outside during the day, and Razor would stay outside. I finally took a big box into my shed with lots of blankets and stuff to make a warm place where he could hang out, but I absolutely refused to let him stay outside at night. Bedtime became a war of wills. I'd be outside, trying to corner him, or trying to convince him if I was outside, it was probably safer inside. No good. I finally learned to turn off all of the lights, open the patio door, and HIDE. He would eventually sneak back into the house and run down the hall to "his" room, my computer room. Then I'd jump up and try to beat him to the patio door and get it closed before he escaped again. A dog door saved my sanity. It took him a couple of weeks to get used to it, but he decided it was nice to be able to come and go at will. Over time, he decided I wasn't so bad, for a human. He still had his spooky moments, but he would lie right next to my computer chair as long as I was at the computer. Made it hard to type with one hand, because I was required to use one hand at all times to scritch his head. In December 1998,
I found out he had osteosarcoma, bone cancer. He started
limping ever so slightly on one front leg. A few days later,
we were at the Colorado State University vet hospital making
the hardest decisions of my life. Razor's front left leg was
amputated. He dealt with the surgery much better than I did.
Because he was such a spook, and because I'm an overbearing,
irritating "mother," less than 24 hours after
surgery Razor came home. I was absolutely astounded to see
him hopping to me on 3 legs when I got to the hospital to
pick him up. I was also extremely upset. It's a sight that
shocks you at first. I can't really remember anything that
was said during that visit, except that I could take him
home. (If you are ever in one of those situations, take
along a good friend or family member to listen to the
instructions. I wasn't comprehending anything at that
point.)
Once home, we lived in his room, the computer room, for about 3 days. The incision site was huge, of course, and I put cold compresses on it for the first 3 days, then warm for the next three. He had a fentanyl patch on for pain management, and while I don't believe he was in a lot of pain, he was uncomfortable for the first 3 days. He wouldn't sleep unless I was patting him, and as soon as I would fall asleep, he would wake up and whine. Thankfully, he
recuperated remarkably quickly. Within a week, he was trying
to be too active, and he didn't appreciate being confined in
his room all day. He much preferred lying outside in the
sun, so I came home during my lunch hours and let him lie in
the back yard in the sun.
Within a month of
surgery, he was running around like having 3 legs was the
most natural thing in the world!
Shy and Razor We made many trips to the sprint field for him to play and aggravate the adoption dogs and race puppies. He scared me silly when he would leap out of the van and run after rabbits that were dumb enough to be in the sprint field. I kept waiting for him to stumble and fall, but he was master of his tripod condition, and King of the Sprint Field! Unfortunately,
Razor's cancer didn't give us a very long reprieve. He
started limping again in June 1999, and x-rays of his lungs
showed it had spread there, as well. I had to let him go to
the Rainbow Bridge on July 5, 1999. I still miss him, and
always will, but I'm so grateful that I had the opportunity
to share a portion of my life with him.
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