You knew that...right?

I love my dog, Macy. She is the biggest boo-bear, with the sweetest disposition ever and I am so lucky to have her.

She had a cancer scare last year right before I deployed and *knock wood* she has been happy, healthy and cancer free since having surgery to remove the small tumor. Life is good. That said, she's an older dog already. At 11 years old, she has her little grey chin coming in, it's a little tougher for her to wake up in the mornings, and she isn't quite as sprightly as she used to be. She's getting kinda deaf too. All part of the cycle of life.

Last week she was lying in her bed, and she yelped. It was without a doubt a yelp of sudden pain. But she seemed to get over it quickly and we moved on. A couple hours later while she was just walking from the living room to the kitchen, she yelped again. After the 3rd yelp, I did a cursory check with my non-vet eyes and decided that, given her age and history, I should just take her in to the vet and have them take a look in case I am missing something. Don't want my moose in pain if she doesn't need to be.

I drop her off for her appointment today, and headed into work. A couple hours later I get a call from the vet. She has some degenerative joint disease in her knees and that is likely what was causing her the pain. Nothing a few days without walks and some rimadil won't fix up. Awesome. "And by the way", the vet goes on to say, "where she was shot might be giving her some problems too." Me: Um...excuse me? The Vet: "You knew that she'd been shot, right"? Me: Um...NO!? Like, today?!" The Vet: "No, no, it's an old injury but there are a lot of little bullet fragments around the area of her left hip."

My first reaction is just a pain in my heart. I knew that Macy had likely been abused as a younger dog. I rescued her from a shelter when she was around 3 or 4. About a month after I had her, I was getting a little tired of her going into the trash can and knocking it over for scraps. When I finally caught her in the act, I had rolled up a newspaper and whacked it on the counter and shouted "Macy, NO"! Never touched her. Never intened to touch her, either. But whacking the newpaper on the counter caused her to curl up into a ball, skulk over to the door trying to get outside and she peed on herself. This was OBVIOUSLY a dog who had been beaten into submission. Broke my heart in two. I ran over to her and gave her kisses and loving and apologized for hitting the counter (really?). But I didn't care what impression I may have been giving. I called my sister in law for advice on what to do now (since Macy is my first dog in LIFE). She told me, Liss, she's a dog. Get a trash can that goes under your sink. Problem solved.

My second reaction today was anger. Anyone who knows my dog, knows how sweet and sorta helpless she is under pressure. Who would do that to a dog? Any dog? But especailly MY dog. A dog that I have grown to love an insane amount. Who loves me and loves Eric unconditionally. All she needs in return is pats and food.

As the vet was showing me the x-rays today of her hip and the bullet and all it's fragments were still there lodged in her body, the reaction of heartbreak and anger came together. But in the end, anger won.

If the chicken-shit ass hole who shot my Macy all those years ago is still alive, I hope that someone shoots you in both of your knees, rendering you unable to run from the pack of angry pitbulls who can smell your blood as it pools on the ground around you while you scream in agony and they show you what being a carnivore is truly about.