(Photo courtesy of Dr. Ruth Barthel)
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He looked like a skeleton so I named him Bones. My team members and I gave him a padded bed and wrapped him in a comforter
while we started our laboratory tests to learn more about him.
The old dog had collapsed by the side of the road, so weak he couldn't lift his head. A kind woman found him and brought him
to my hospital. My first thought was "Oh, you poor dog," and the second was the sad realization that I'd probably have to
euthanize him out of kindness.
He was truly skin and bones, weighing 40 pounds when he should have weighed 75. These are the statistics I put in his chart:
older intact male, yellow coat, breed most likely Labrador, no collar or microchip, cataracts, grade 4 periodontal disease,
multiple warts, grade 2 heart murmur with no evidence of heart failure, arthritis likely in left elbow and both hips, unable
to stand, aware of surroundings but dull mental attitude.
Tests were negative for heartworm infection, intestinal parasites, and major liver and kidney dysfunction. Based on these
results, I presumed he was owned by a caring family. The only way he could have been heartworm-negative in Michigan was if
he'd been consistently receiving preventive pills. I had visions of Bones out in the cold, starving to death for the past
month. Someone must be looking for him—or heartbroken that he had wandered off. I couldn't euthanize him without trying to
give the owner a chance to say goodbye. Bones ate voraciously. We started small and gradually increased the size of his meals over the next few days. He ate best
if we hand-fed him.
We called all the surrounding shelters and humane societies to report Bones, and one lost-dog message fit his description.
That dog had gone missing more than a month before in the same part of the county where Bones was found. We left a message
at the provided number, hoping to reunite Bones with his owner. Days passed and no one called.
Lost dog finds a foster mom: me
Bones gained enough strength to stand as long as someone held him around his tiny waist. He'd never urinate on his bed; he
waited to be taken outside to the grass. His courage had all of us falling in love with him.
Although he gained two pounds in four days, it was obvious this would be a long convalescence. Bones wasn't going to be a
dog we could find a home for anytime soon, if ever. But I couldn't bear to put him to sleep. It was spring break, so maybe
the owner was away and hadn't gotten our message.
I wasn't sure Bones would recuperate, but the least he deserved was food, warmth, and someone to love him. So I took him home.
After 25 years in practice, I'd learned not to take home every stray that crossed the hospital's threshold, but I couldn't
resist Bones. During the day he lived at the hospital so we could feed him, carry him out to the grass, and carry him back
in to sleep. At night he slept on my couch while I sat next to him and watched HBO. My own dog was a bit perturbed by this.
He sat on the other side of me, which meant my husband had to sit elsewhere—the couch is only so big.
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