I had a boxer named Achilles who was the most fun-loving and goofy dog I've ever been around. When he was about 12 weeks old, he suddenly went lame while we were playing in the backyard and stumbled down the steps on our deck. He couldn't get up. My girlfriend (now ex) immediately started crying because she knew something wasn't right. We rushed him to the vet, who diagnosed him with Hypertrophic Osteodystrophy. It's a bone disease some larger breeds of dogs are prone to as growing puppies. They will eventually "grow out" of the disease, but often, owners will put the dogs down because the it causes extreme pain and extremely high fever that can cause brain damage. That wasn't an option for us. The vet put Achilles on some anti-inflamatory meds for the swelling in his joints, and pain-killers that litterally made him almost comatos. He would just lay there on the ground, moaning all day. It was heart breaking because there was nothing we could do to help him. At the time, I was working PRN at a hospital, so I could make my own schedule, within reason. I had to work 2 days minimum a month, so I scheduled my 2 days and prepared to hunker down.
Taking care of Achilles was a 24 hour job. He couldn't walk at all, so I had to hand feed him a paste mixture of food/medicine through a syringe. He had no appetite, but I made him swallow everything I could. He became terribly emaciated and lost a lot of weight. We had to lay him on "pee pads" because he'd just go where he lay, so I had to frequently change his "pee pad" and clean him off. His fever couldn't go over 106 or we were in trouble, so I had to lay there with him and wipe his belly with a cool wash rag to help him regulate his temperature. For a month straight, I did all this, night and day. I barely slept, rarely ever getting more than 2 hours uninterrupted. That didn't really matter to me, all I cared about was seeing him through this.
One day, as I was laying in the living room floor a couple of feet away from him, he lifted his head up and looked at me, still lying on his side. I said "Hi Buggy" (that was his nickname). He just layed there for a few seconds, but then he rolled his body a little bit and stretched his front paws out in front of him. My eyes got big and I immediately sat up. After a few more seconds he pulled his back legs underneath himself and proceeded to crawl to me. He was wobbly and couldn't move very fast, but he was moving for the first time in a month. When he got to me he put his head on my leg and just looked up at me with those sad puppy dog eyes. I smiled at him and started crying. I was so happy because in that moment, I knew my little man was going to be ok.
It took some time and lots of rehab, but eventually Achilles was finally able to walk again. We made it. It was expensive. It was exhausting. It was worth it. He is the most adorable, good natured, fun-loving dog you will ever meet. He loves everyone and he's a big baby because of all the babying we did during his ordeal, but I wouldn't have him any other way because that's what it took to keep him alive. Sadly, I don't get to see him anymore, because my ex has him and we don't speak, but if I ever get another dog, you can bet your butt it's going to be a boxer.
