The initial images of Socrates shattered my heart since he lived for 9 years in disease, mud, and shackles. He was half-dead in a sack of bones and body, covered in scabies and dehydrated. His body is riddled with gaping wounds. Despite my other obligations, I couldn’t let this old guy suffer another day.
I got friends with Socrates and went him in the hospital twice a day, in the morning and at night, to feed him. I didn’t cook it like that for a dog; I cook it extremely well for him. Socrates was led outside to enjoy the sights and breathe fresh air. I’m sure he enjoyed it. The battle against his diseases was like running in a loop. For two days, Socrates had a fever and diarrhea.
I was scared he had another viral infection, but he was transferred to Los Angeles to have speedier treatment for bone cancer. He would have a true family for the rest of his life.
Because of his age, doctors chose not to amputate his hind leg. Everyone wanted Socrates to live the remainder of his life without putting himself in danger. He enjoyed walking despite the difficulty.
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