The animals are breaking down

One day long ago, we noticed that Max was paying rather too much attention to his private parts. When we investigated as to why that should be, we noticed(!) that almost anybody would pay a lot of attention to his private parts, since a particular part was out waving in the air in a way that, in a neutered dog, it was never meant to do. In addition, Max's mood was Very Bad.
Off to the vet, who put it back inside all nice and cozy. Max seemed happier. A couple of weeks passed, and it was out again, in all its glory. And Max was, once again, unhappy. Unbearable, in fact. Back to the vet who said, "I've never done this before, and neither has Dr. M., but this is what we can try." So the doctor, using local anesthetic and tranquilizers, tucked up the misplaced part and put in a little stitch or two, and sent Max home with a cone on his head to keep him from disturbing the surgical site. Within four days, Max had learned to maneuver his spine so that he could, once again, pay attention. It was OUT again.  I made an appointment, three days hence, with the veterinarian, and took off the cone: "Enjoy yourself, boy."
The day before Max's appointment he was ill. So ill that he hardly knew if he was walking or riding a horse. Husband and I thought that we would wake up to find him dead. We did not.
And off we went to the vet.
"The penis is not the problem," I said to the doctor. It had retracted. Mostly.
The doctor and I agreed that we needed to see if there was something internal that was causing the extrusion.
X-rays followed, and showed all internal organs where they should be, and all of the proper size. Patellas, however, luxating badly. The doctor could pop both hind legs' patellas around quite easily. Tramadol was prescribed, and Max has been living happily ever since. I don't care if he's high; he isn't growling, his parts are all mostly where they're supposed to be, and he isn't falling down the stairs because he doesn't want to flex his hind legs. The only problem remaining is that Tramadol apparently tastes very very bad. My powers of invention are twice daily tested: how to hide a bitter pill in something that Max loves enough to gobble instead of chew. So far I'm batting about .500.


MiMau has been living high on the hog, enjoying her country life. For a week, we daily found a murdered rodent on the front walk. She's been a little off her food, but it's been hot, and there are all those rodents out there. We supposed she was dining al fresco. Yesterday I said to Husband, "Have you seen the cat?" 
"No," he said. 
"I haven't seen her since yesterday afternoon, when she was sitting on the patio."
He went in search and found her sleeping in his workshop, carried her inside, where she moved cautiously and seemingly painfully, drank a little water, and reclined for most of the day.  We concluded that she had gotten drenched in the heavy rain, had gotten chilled and was a little sore. Perhaps, we thought, she had encountered another animal and had been on tense high alert all night. No wounds, no specific sore spots.
Tomorrow I shall make an appointment with the vet for MiMau.  I feel a certain obligation to get all these animals in order before I myself am temporarily incapacitated.


Angus, who was almost killed by a fisher, is beginning to look like Superman next to his siblings.