Happy is now officially old. He is 12 years old (or older; he was relatively grown up when mom's ex-colleague picked him up from the street in 1995) and more than a dozen of his teeth was surgically extracted yesterday.
At me and my brother's urging for over a year, mom took Happy to see the vet at SPCA and found out Happy has irritated skin, some kind of germ in his blood that prevents clotting, and lots of rotten teeth. Happy is our first dog and he has always appeared healthy and energetic (anyone who's played with him can attest to this), so we couldn't tell that so many problems creeped up on him since his checkup a few years ago.
This picture taken today is lousy, but you should be able to see that half of his teeth, which always stuck out, are now missing. His right front leg is bandaged as a result of needle wounds from (repeated) blood testing and anesthetic. He was still noticeably exhausted from the surgery:
Before the surgery, my precious baby looked like this:
(In the past month, Happy had to be soaked in medicine for 10 minutes every two days to treat his skin irritations. Happy has always hated taking shower, even though over the years he's grown marginally less resistant of it. However, forcing him to stand there and shiver for such a long time just made him miserable. My maid used a kitchen timer to keep track of the time, and whenever the alarm went off, Happy would ecstatically try to escape from the tub. He never succeeded even though he usually managed to splatter water and soap all over the place.)
The reality of Happy's aging never hit me so hard until I came home last night and he greeted me groggily, as the anesthetic was still in effect. He'd always rush to the door when he hears someone approaching. If the door opens and it's someone he knows, he'd yelp and jump and climb and lick like the person is a long lost first love. Happy's passionate welcome makes going home an event that I long for after a day's work. He makes the apartment our home, where love is waiting for us.
And he's now an old, old dog.
At me and my brother's urging for over a year, mom took Happy to see the vet at SPCA and found out Happy has irritated skin, some kind of germ in his blood that prevents clotting, and lots of rotten teeth. Happy is our first dog and he has always appeared healthy and energetic (anyone who's played with him can attest to this), so we couldn't tell that so many problems creeped up on him since his checkup a few years ago.
This picture taken today is lousy, but you should be able to see that half of his teeth, which always stuck out, are now missing. His right front leg is bandaged as a result of needle wounds from (repeated) blood testing and anesthetic. He was still noticeably exhausted from the surgery:
Before the surgery, my precious baby looked like this:
(In the past month, Happy had to be soaked in medicine for 10 minutes every two days to treat his skin irritations. Happy has always hated taking shower, even though over the years he's grown marginally less resistant of it. However, forcing him to stand there and shiver for such a long time just made him miserable. My maid used a kitchen timer to keep track of the time, and whenever the alarm went off, Happy would ecstatically try to escape from the tub. He never succeeded even though he usually managed to splatter water and soap all over the place.)
The reality of Happy's aging never hit me so hard until I came home last night and he greeted me groggily, as the anesthetic was still in effect. He'd always rush to the door when he hears someone approaching. If the door opens and it's someone he knows, he'd yelp and jump and climb and lick like the person is a long lost first love. Happy's passionate welcome makes going home an event that I long for after a day's work. He makes the apartment our home, where love is waiting for us.
And he's now an old, old dog.
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