With some input (tearful pleading) from my brothers and I, we convinced her that something might be wrong with him and he should visit the vet before any rash decisions were made. He could have doggy dementia, or been in some kind of pain. She agreed, having no desire to Old Yeller him anyway. I spent several days in quiet anguish, hoping there was some sort of medical explanation for his actions.
Alas, Turo is just a dick.
As far as his doggy doctor could tell, he's a perfectly healthy specimen. Other than his advancing age, he's fine. The vet recommended that my Mom not put him down, but advised that she keep him away from my nieces and nephew (who are 8, 3, and 2 respectively) until they were older, in case he did it again.
So Turo gets to live after all!
It is with much relief that I write this, as his imminent demise was causing me a large degree of heartache. The downside for poor Turo is that he will be wearing a stylish muzzle whenever he's around the kids, or outside of the house.
But it's much better than the alternative.
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