Freckles
Dear -------
You are always asking for stories. Well, I’m no spinner of yarns or dabbler of words though I’m full of sinful ways. Yet, here’s one…none too well written and certainly way too long for the newsletter I’m afraid...nor of a subject near and dear to the membership’s hearts or even one they’d much care to read about…nor one with a happy ending yet, though we all have our hopes, don’t we? Still, as editor of the newsletter, just perhaps some misfortunate might someday find himself in this barrow ditch of bad luck and inquire of you what you know about the problem at hand and who he/she might talk to. So, stick it in your file just in case and hope you never have to pull it out again for anyone.
Back in Jan’y while out doing our daily walk with Freckles (the stage name of Snowy Oaks Zephyr) flying back and forth, guarding our flanks against evil-minded cottontails, she came up lame in her left foot. We wrote that down to her trying to stomp a prickly pear that got in her way out of existence, as she is wont to do and we tried to find the spine to no avail.
The leg was still bothering her a couple hours later when we took her to our vet’s for scheduled shots. The good doctor found no cactus or cuts either, worked up the leg, and discovered the knee joint was tender. Fearing possible injury to one of the tendons, she asked if we wanted to leave her so she could be put under and x-rays taken of the joint to ascertain what was going on
The vet called a couple of hours later and said Freckles was ready to come home but she wanted to talk to us when we came in to get her. There was a tone about the way she delivered that line we didn’t particularly like. The day deteriorated completely when we met and were told there was nothing wrong with the knee but that Freckles had dysplasia…bad…and not in just her left hip but both. If the word “dysplasia” doesn’t make you double up and suck wind, chances are you aren’t a dog man and never will be.
I asked what that meant and the doc said we had a few options – let the dysplasia run its course and enjoy her while we could; medicate her to alleviate the pain and give her supplements to hopefully slow the progress of joint deterioration; or have an orthopedic surgeon appraise the situation and determine if she was a potential candidate for a surgical remedy. The first option was out – this old marine nimrod won’t leave man or dog on the battlefield. While Option Two sounded plausible, we are talking MY dog, Pilgrim, and it sounded too temporary and leading to the same unacceptable end of a life cut short and terminating with debilitation. Now, I believe in all sorts of alternative medicine but I’ll be betting against you if you hold you can stop diarrhea with a band-aid. So, turning her into a druggie was out.
Doc said it was her understanding some surgeons performed hip operations but that they limited their patients to those 2-years old or less. Freckles was coming 3 in March so I didn’t even venture to check out whether they’d make an exception. Instead, when I got back home, I cranked up the computer; notified Curt and Romy of the situation in case they needed to know relative to future breedings, got an on-line education about dysplasia and surgical solutions for the inflicted; checked for orthopedic veterinarians from Portland, OR down to LA, across to Houston, and back up around the mid-west; and started making phone calls to learn more details about the various docs-on-line.
What I discovered – besides the fact dysplasia is a death sentence usually only if you elect it to be – was there are numerous vets willing to help and there is a spectrum of experience from “some” to “blessedly excessive.” Anticipated costs appeared to be based on geography more than expertise – from more modest inland to two checkbooks required in the high rent districts. Guts, feathers, and all, the operation cost some cash and more on top of that for travel, etc, etc. Staggers the imagination, don’t it – but, I’ve rolled more in smokes in my life than that. I felt several outfits would do, but that Gulf Coast Veterinary Specialists in Houston would do best.
A surgeon there, an old Nebraskan from Bird Dog Land and a founder of GCVS, returned my call. I explained our situation and interrogated him about his experience with total hip replacement (THR) because that sure sounded like the procedure Freckles needed due to her age, size, and being a bird dog in general and a very active one in particular. We also learned from their web page age is not an issue within reason and they had operated successfully on young dogs, adults, and geriatrics. On GCVS’ website, it had mentioned most patients are able to resume active lives and a hunter plaid flag flushed straight up like a woodcock. When I asked the surgeon what exactly “active” actually meant relative to a hard charging birddog, he said most are able to return to the field with few apparent limitations. What he said he couldn’t do was restore a dog screwed up by being turned into a Frisbee catching basket case who ending up with wrecked spine, shot joints, and tortured feet. I may have misinterpreted him, but the way he rattled like a Texas diamondback with a bellyache gave me the distinct impression he was quite venomous when it came to canine Frisbee. I was impressed by the fact GCVS had done over 1000 successful hip operations and long term records had been kept on those dogs whose owners either brought them in for annual physicals or had their own vets check the dogs out and send their findings to GCVS. I was glad to learn this number included a lot of birddog breeds; happier still that many of these dogs had gone back to being honest working hunters, and absolutely delighted to find out at least one of these had gone back to participating in field trials and winning trophies in the process, which highlighted the degree of recovery one could hope for. One or more of his patients had been “search and rescue” professionals, brought in by caring people, and returned to full duty in a matter of months. I might add that he and several of his colleagues have continued their education to qualify them to wear the hard-earned Diplomate ACVS (American College of Veterinary Surgeons) after their names.
GCVS only takes patients through veterinary referrals and I was told I would have to work through our vet. I said that she took x-rays and I would have her send them to him. He said he would look them over and get back with us in a couple of days, which he did. His analysis of the x-rays was he thought Freckles was a candidate for surgery, but would want to exam her himself before committing. We could not schedule for a Jan’y exam and potential operation because we were due to be in Panama to close on a part year and maybe eventual retirement Pacific beach home where I intend to teach Freckles to stay out of the mouths of boated snappers, the claws of pesky giant anteaters, and the coils of hungry boas. We agreed to have her at the clinic for an exam on 13 Feb’y and an operating room was set aside for a probable procedure on Valentine’s Day. He advised us he could not arrange a date towards the end of Feb’y because he had an annual commitment to provide professional services in the Alaskan Iditarod.
The very next thing I did was call our pheasant hunting facility and book a hunt in a small grain patch on easy ground for three birds only. You go after birds to enjoy the hunting or the shooting or watching the dog hunt or a dozen other reasons. This one was to give Freckles one more hunt – maybe her last one because there are no guarantees in life and certainly not on the operating table. Mary left her gun at home, figuring a camera was more apropos. It was a short hunt but a great one as far as the three of us were concerned and I somehow managed to drop two of the three birds.
The field was small enough that while we were getting these two, the third one spooked, ran out the backside and flushed out of range. One of the other two made it to the top of a small rise before realizing it was flying dead and Freckles was reluctant to go after it, an indication of how bad she was hurting even though her tail wagged all through the hunt. I started up the slope and she of course joined me. When I reached the top, I saw the bird lying at the bottom of the grade, pointed to it, and she went down and walked back up with it.
The hunt only lasted forty-five minutes and we went straight back to the lodge, cleaned the birds, settled up, and drove the half-hour trip home. She laid down as soon as she got in the car and when we got home, I had to lift her out, led her over to some tall grass across the road to do her thing, and brought her bed into the living room. She limped over, laid down, and never budged the rest of the afternoon and evening. She was physically shot and her eyes were full of pain.
When we arrived at the clinic, we were taken back by its size. Their website suggested it was not your average vet office but upon entering it, a person could see with one eye and a bad case of cataracts we were dealing with a regular Mayo Clinic for animals. At the desk in Surgery, I asked the receptionist just how many people worked there and she said she really didn’t know but that there were 55 staff in Surgery alone and Surgery was one of six sections. There are numerous operating rooms; recovery rooms; ICUs; and 365-day around the clock nursing services.
As we were checking in, Mary noticed a man across the room with an obviously sick parrot on his arm and said without thinking, “Look at the bird.” Freckles spun and froze. I thought “Oh My Lord, a dead bird!” and gently clamped down on her windpipe for all I was worth. But there was no need for the choke hold because apparently Freckles thought that that was the ugliest ringneck she ever laid eyes on and didn’t want to catch whatever had deformed it so hideously.
The surgeon explored both of Freckles’ legs from nail to tail, then had me walk her back and forth in the hall so he could watch her move, and finally had an assistant take her off to X-ray for more pictures. His conclusions were indeed both hips were bad, the likely reason we hadn’t noticed her problem until we did is the condition had slowly developed over many months and she had concluded the pain was normal (don’t think hearing that doesn’t give you a quilt trip!), and THR ought to be performed on both hips – one at a time. Mary asked how much time between operations and he said that is always difficult to say – weeks, months, years, maybe the second hip won’t ever cause her infirmity though he was betting against that hope. He said he would recommend the left hip be done immediately because it looked the worse for wear though the right was not much better. I said I had heard there were two types of THRs – one in which the socket is cemented in and one where it isn’t – and asked him to explain which was better. His response was he still did both although the cementless “press-fit” joint is a more modern procedure. There are pros and cons about each and he said there are various factors to consider in determining which procedure to select – size of the patient, how active it has been, bone condition, etc. I told him to go ahead with the operation, but to keep firmly in mind this was probably the most important dog he would ever work on. He replied that while it might seem that way to me, he’d beg to differ and reserve that description for one of his own.
He advised us that while the operation is the centerpiece, postoperative care is absolutely critical to a successful recovery. “You HAVE to ensure Freckles doesn’t jump or twist or slip or run while the bone is growing to the implant surface over several weeks.” “Yeah and exactly HOW do we do we get that job done with pure energy wrapped in dog’s clothing?” “I didn’t say it would be easy – just that it had to be done.” In the weeks to come, we discovered Freckles was most cooperative and the task not all that trying.
Surgery took place the next day and Freckles stayed at the clinic four days instead of the normal two because the extra time gave her a chance to recover a bit more for the 1200-mile road trip home. They had requested a phone number where we could be reached following the operation and we were called to let us know the operation went very well, he was able to build a marvelous joint, and Freckles was resting comfortably in ICU/Recovery. The nurse on duty called us every morning to give us a daily sit rep. And when she refused the normal food, they offered her gourmet chicken, which she willingly took. The place is a class act. GCVS took postoperative x-rays to show us what the new hip looked like and e-mail a set off to our vet at home for her records. He chose to go with the cementless joint for her, which required our close supervision during the recovery phase. You can see in the copy of the x-ray how the head of the right femur has abnormal growth caused by the dyplasia and is wearing away the socket. Keep in mind, now, that the worse of the two hips was replaced. It is a nasty disease and we really feel if the left had gone untreated, the way it was progressing with her, Freckles would most likely by now be a total invalid – at best.
So, for eight weeks we have tried to anticipate her every need; taken her out a dozen times a day if she even looked like she needed to do her thing – at first, walking along with her with a towel under her belly to help hold up her rear quarters and guard against slipping and tripping; and lifted her up and down off the bed. The bed? You bet; we weren’t about to sleep on the floor to provide her the close pack contact she needed right then and know when she had to go out in the middle of the night. That phase of the program is over. We took her back to our vet for an eighth-week check-up and x-rays, which have been sent off to GCVS before starting her 30-day physical therapy walks. We have to leash walk her a half mile twice a day for ten days, then a mile twice a day for ten more, and finally 1 ½ miles twice a day for the last ten. After that, it is return to our normal routine of daily walks with her back out on our flanks, keeping the killer rabbits at bay. No only does she not limp (she hasn’t since the first week), she is so excited at the smells of the outside world she had to give up that it is difficult to make her heel. Bluebirds, robins, meadow larks – it doesn’t matter – she’s just got to point them all whether they are on the ground or flying. And if she sees a strutting cockbird out in a field while she’s riding in the car – does anybody else’s LM point from inside a vehicle – and SCREAM?!? The old girl isn’t home yet, but she’s sure as heck coming down the lane on Hip #1! The right hip unfortunately is still deteriorating. We hope to have that one replaced in June.
This is the second time I have mentioned letting her chase rabbits. I don’t know anything about anybody else’s LMs, but “MY” LM certainly knows the difference between play and work – you simply don’t chase bunnies when we’ve got a gun. I put an electronic collar on her every time we hunted when she was a pup and she learned the hard way one does not chase bunnies when one is hunting birds. Twice I had to zap her and even now when one jumps out, she pauses to look at me with regrets before resuming her search for real game. And as much fun as it is to chase them when we are just out walking, she comes right back when called. Heck, you’ve got to chase your rabbits while you can and if I was only a bit younger, I’d be showing her a thing or two about the art – bird hunter or not – and that’s a fact!
So… would we suggest if your dog develops dysplasia that you have an operation done to correct it if possible? We can’t answer that for you. To hell I can’t, but I won’t. Everyone has his/her own priorities. We would personally rather spend money on our hunting partner and constant companion and continue driving our ten- to twenty-year old vehicles. I’ll junk a truck but not a dog, but that’s the way I am. Understand that in spite of all you hear about ANY breed being dysplasia-free, it has been around for eons and isn’t apt to go away anytime soon. Hopefully, your dog will never be afflicted with it. But, if you are absolutely convinced your dog couldn’t possibly develop dysplasia whatever its age, bet your small change first. As I said earlier, you must understand dysplasia is a dirty word – not a death sentence – and that your dog can most likely be given comfort and its life restored to near-normality or better – and that includes serious hunting – maybe not bear and boar hunting like some of the LMs of yesteryear might have done, but certainly both uplanders and waterfowl.
Sir, it is daylight in the swamp …time to roll out or roll up…there are places to go… people to see…things to do…I shall take my leave of you… besides, as you can plainly see, I’ve just developed a terrible buck problem outside the window…the fool’s after The Mistress’ tulip patch and that ain’t ever gonna fly! Not only can that woman run like the living devil, but she shows absolutely no mercy when she catches you! Thanking you for doing a cracker-jack job on the newsletters, wishing you the best of springtides, and advising you to stay out of cactus patches when you’re drunk and barefooted, I remain -------
Long on shot and short on powder,
You are always asking for stories. Well, I’m no spinner of yarns or dabbler of words though I’m full of sinful ways. Yet, here’s one…none too well written and certainly way too long for the newsletter I’m afraid...nor of a subject near and dear to the membership’s hearts or even one they’d much care to read about…nor one with a happy ending yet, though we all have our hopes, don’t we? Still, as editor of the newsletter, just perhaps some misfortunate might someday find himself in this barrow ditch of bad luck and inquire of you what you know about the problem at hand and who he/she might talk to. So, stick it in your file just in case and hope you never have to pull it out again for anyone.
Back in Jan’y while out doing our daily walk with Freckles (the stage name of Snowy Oaks Zephyr) flying back and forth, guarding our flanks against evil-minded cottontails, she came up lame in her left foot. We wrote that down to her trying to stomp a prickly pear that got in her way out of existence, as she is wont to do and we tried to find the spine to no avail.
The leg was still bothering her a couple hours later when we took her to our vet’s for scheduled shots. The good doctor found no cactus or cuts either, worked up the leg, and discovered the knee joint was tender. Fearing possible injury to one of the tendons, she asked if we wanted to leave her so she could be put under and x-rays taken of the joint to ascertain what was going on
The vet called a couple of hours later and said Freckles was ready to come home but she wanted to talk to us when we came in to get her. There was a tone about the way she delivered that line we didn’t particularly like. The day deteriorated completely when we met and were told there was nothing wrong with the knee but that Freckles had dysplasia…bad…and not in just her left hip but both. If the word “dysplasia” doesn’t make you double up and suck wind, chances are you aren’t a dog man and never will be.
I asked what that meant and the doc said we had a few options – let the dysplasia run its course and enjoy her while we could; medicate her to alleviate the pain and give her supplements to hopefully slow the progress of joint deterioration; or have an orthopedic surgeon appraise the situation and determine if she was a potential candidate for a surgical remedy. The first option was out – this old marine nimrod won’t leave man or dog on the battlefield. While Option Two sounded plausible, we are talking MY dog, Pilgrim, and it sounded too temporary and leading to the same unacceptable end of a life cut short and terminating with debilitation. Now, I believe in all sorts of alternative medicine but I’ll be betting against you if you hold you can stop diarrhea with a band-aid. So, turning her into a druggie was out.
Doc said it was her understanding some surgeons performed hip operations but that they limited their patients to those 2-years old or less. Freckles was coming 3 in March so I didn’t even venture to check out whether they’d make an exception. Instead, when I got back home, I cranked up the computer; notified Curt and Romy of the situation in case they needed to know relative to future breedings, got an on-line education about dysplasia and surgical solutions for the inflicted; checked for orthopedic veterinarians from Portland, OR down to LA, across to Houston, and back up around the mid-west; and started making phone calls to learn more details about the various docs-on-line.
What I discovered – besides the fact dysplasia is a death sentence usually only if you elect it to be – was there are numerous vets willing to help and there is a spectrum of experience from “some” to “blessedly excessive.” Anticipated costs appeared to be based on geography more than expertise – from more modest inland to two checkbooks required in the high rent districts. Guts, feathers, and all, the operation cost some cash and more on top of that for travel, etc, etc. Staggers the imagination, don’t it – but, I’ve rolled more in smokes in my life than that. I felt several outfits would do, but that Gulf Coast Veterinary Specialists in Houston would do best.
A surgeon there, an old Nebraskan from Bird Dog Land and a founder of GCVS, returned my call. I explained our situation and interrogated him about his experience with total hip replacement (THR) because that sure sounded like the procedure Freckles needed due to her age, size, and being a bird dog in general and a very active one in particular. We also learned from their web page age is not an issue within reason and they had operated successfully on young dogs, adults, and geriatrics. On GCVS’ website, it had mentioned most patients are able to resume active lives and a hunter plaid flag flushed straight up like a woodcock. When I asked the surgeon what exactly “active” actually meant relative to a hard charging birddog, he said most are able to return to the field with few apparent limitations. What he said he couldn’t do was restore a dog screwed up by being turned into a Frisbee catching basket case who ending up with wrecked spine, shot joints, and tortured feet. I may have misinterpreted him, but the way he rattled like a Texas diamondback with a bellyache gave me the distinct impression he was quite venomous when it came to canine Frisbee. I was impressed by the fact GCVS had done over 1000 successful hip operations and long term records had been kept on those dogs whose owners either brought them in for annual physicals or had their own vets check the dogs out and send their findings to GCVS. I was glad to learn this number included a lot of birddog breeds; happier still that many of these dogs had gone back to being honest working hunters, and absolutely delighted to find out at least one of these had gone back to participating in field trials and winning trophies in the process, which highlighted the degree of recovery one could hope for. One or more of his patients had been “search and rescue” professionals, brought in by caring people, and returned to full duty in a matter of months. I might add that he and several of his colleagues have continued their education to qualify them to wear the hard-earned Diplomate ACVS (American College of Veterinary Surgeons) after their names.
GCVS only takes patients through veterinary referrals and I was told I would have to work through our vet. I said that she took x-rays and I would have her send them to him. He said he would look them over and get back with us in a couple of days, which he did. His analysis of the x-rays was he thought Freckles was a candidate for surgery, but would want to exam her himself before committing. We could not schedule for a Jan’y exam and potential operation because we were due to be in Panama to close on a part year and maybe eventual retirement Pacific beach home where I intend to teach Freckles to stay out of the mouths of boated snappers, the claws of pesky giant anteaters, and the coils of hungry boas. We agreed to have her at the clinic for an exam on 13 Feb’y and an operating room was set aside for a probable procedure on Valentine’s Day. He advised us he could not arrange a date towards the end of Feb’y because he had an annual commitment to provide professional services in the Alaskan Iditarod.
The very next thing I did was call our pheasant hunting facility and book a hunt in a small grain patch on easy ground for three birds only. You go after birds to enjoy the hunting or the shooting or watching the dog hunt or a dozen other reasons. This one was to give Freckles one more hunt – maybe her last one because there are no guarantees in life and certainly not on the operating table. Mary left her gun at home, figuring a camera was more apropos. It was a short hunt but a great one as far as the three of us were concerned and I somehow managed to drop two of the three birds.
The hunt only lasted forty-five minutes and we went straight back to the lodge, cleaned the birds, settled up, and drove the half-hour trip home. She laid down as soon as she got in the car and when we got home, I had to lift her out, led her over to some tall grass across the road to do her thing, and brought her bed into the living room. She limped over, laid down, and never budged the rest of the afternoon and evening. She was physically shot and her eyes were full of pain.
When we arrived at the clinic, we were taken back by its size. Their website suggested it was not your average vet office but upon entering it, a person could see with one eye and a bad case of cataracts we were dealing with a regular Mayo Clinic for animals. At the desk in Surgery, I asked the receptionist just how many people worked there and she said she really didn’t know but that there were 55 staff in Surgery alone and Surgery was one of six sections. There are numerous operating rooms; recovery rooms; ICUs; and 365-day around the clock nursing services.
As we were checking in, Mary noticed a man across the room with an obviously sick parrot on his arm and said without thinking, “Look at the bird.” Freckles spun and froze. I thought “Oh My Lord, a dead bird!” and gently clamped down on her windpipe for all I was worth. But there was no need for the choke hold because apparently Freckles thought that that was the ugliest ringneck she ever laid eyes on and didn’t want to catch whatever had deformed it so hideously.
The surgeon explored both of Freckles’ legs from nail to tail, then had me walk her back and forth in the hall so he could watch her move, and finally had an assistant take her off to X-ray for more pictures. His conclusions were indeed both hips were bad, the likely reason we hadn’t noticed her problem until we did is the condition had slowly developed over many months and she had concluded the pain was normal (don’t think hearing that doesn’t give you a quilt trip!), and THR ought to be performed on both hips – one at a time. Mary asked how much time between operations and he said that is always difficult to say – weeks, months, years, maybe the second hip won’t ever cause her infirmity though he was betting against that hope. He said he would recommend the left hip be done immediately because it looked the worse for wear though the right was not much better. I said I had heard there were two types of THRs – one in which the socket is cemented in and one where it isn’t – and asked him to explain which was better. His response was he still did both although the cementless “press-fit” joint is a more modern procedure. There are pros and cons about each and he said there are various factors to consider in determining which procedure to select – size of the patient, how active it has been, bone condition, etc. I told him to go ahead with the operation, but to keep firmly in mind this was probably the most important dog he would ever work on. He replied that while it might seem that way to me, he’d beg to differ and reserve that description for one of his own.
He advised us that while the operation is the centerpiece, postoperative care is absolutely critical to a successful recovery. “You HAVE to ensure Freckles doesn’t jump or twist or slip or run while the bone is growing to the implant surface over several weeks.” “Yeah and exactly HOW do we do we get that job done with pure energy wrapped in dog’s clothing?” “I didn’t say it would be easy – just that it had to be done.” In the weeks to come, we discovered Freckles was most cooperative and the task not all that trying.
So, for eight weeks we have tried to anticipate her every need; taken her out a dozen times a day if she even looked like she needed to do her thing – at first, walking along with her with a towel under her belly to help hold up her rear quarters and guard against slipping and tripping; and lifted her up and down off the bed. The bed? You bet; we weren’t about to sleep on the floor to provide her the close pack contact she needed right then and know when she had to go out in the middle of the night. That phase of the program is over. We took her back to our vet for an eighth-week check-up and x-rays, which have been sent off to GCVS before starting her 30-day physical therapy walks. We have to leash walk her a half mile twice a day for ten days, then a mile twice a day for ten more, and finally 1 ½ miles twice a day for the last ten. After that, it is return to our normal routine of daily walks with her back out on our flanks, keeping the killer rabbits at bay. No only does she not limp (she hasn’t since the first week), she is so excited at the smells of the outside world she had to give up that it is difficult to make her heel. Bluebirds, robins, meadow larks – it doesn’t matter – she’s just got to point them all whether they are on the ground or flying. And if she sees a strutting cockbird out in a field while she’s riding in the car – does anybody else’s LM point from inside a vehicle – and SCREAM?!? The old girl isn’t home yet, but she’s sure as heck coming down the lane on Hip #1! The right hip unfortunately is still deteriorating. We hope to have that one replaced in June.
This is the second time I have mentioned letting her chase rabbits. I don’t know anything about anybody else’s LMs, but “MY” LM certainly knows the difference between play and work – you simply don’t chase bunnies when we’ve got a gun. I put an electronic collar on her every time we hunted when she was a pup and she learned the hard way one does not chase bunnies when one is hunting birds. Twice I had to zap her and even now when one jumps out, she pauses to look at me with regrets before resuming her search for real game. And as much fun as it is to chase them when we are just out walking, she comes right back when called. Heck, you’ve got to chase your rabbits while you can and if I was only a bit younger, I’d be showing her a thing or two about the art – bird hunter or not – and that’s a fact!
So… would we suggest if your dog develops dysplasia that you have an operation done to correct it if possible? We can’t answer that for you. To hell I can’t, but I won’t. Everyone has his/her own priorities. We would personally rather spend money on our hunting partner and constant companion and continue driving our ten- to twenty-year old vehicles. I’ll junk a truck but not a dog, but that’s the way I am. Understand that in spite of all you hear about ANY breed being dysplasia-free, it has been around for eons and isn’t apt to go away anytime soon. Hopefully, your dog will never be afflicted with it. But, if you are absolutely convinced your dog couldn’t possibly develop dysplasia whatever its age, bet your small change first. As I said earlier, you must understand dysplasia is a dirty word – not a death sentence – and that your dog can most likely be given comfort and its life restored to near-normality or better – and that includes serious hunting – maybe not bear and boar hunting like some of the LMs of yesteryear might have done, but certainly both uplanders and waterfowl.
Long on shot and short on powder,