Sunday, April 27, 2003

When we ran our dog over with our big red truck

Here's the wrap up of this weekend:

Yesterday: Gloomy, rainy, fun in the end.
Today: Sunny, spectacular, completely shitty.


Yesterday we dealt with the bad weather and had fun. Decided that today the fun would be good weather and we'd take the dogs swimming and take a walk. It would be, as it always is, great fun!

Well, we intended to have fun. Honestly.

We packed up the truck and the kids and the dogs, and headed to the swimmin' hole. It was all fun.

Until Jack jumped out of the truck.

I saw it all happen out of the side view mirror up front. He and Kinger were standing there with the wind in their hair enjoying the moment, and the next minute he's up and over.

I yelled at Doug to stop the truck... Jack's collar slipped off from around his neck, and he hit pavement.

Doug stopped, and we could hear Jack howling. I jumped out and saw him under the rear passenger's side wheel, his front legs pinned but the rest of him visible and okay. Doug ran around the back, and looked too as I screamed that he needed to move the truck back a few inches. When he did, I reached down to help Jack.

He bit me.

That's okay. No problem buddy. Bite as hard as you want... I understand.

I looked him in the eye, and the abject terror he communicated to me, plus the shit and piss flying out from behind him, kept me focused and calm. He bit hard and held tightly, and I didn't pull back. Good thing I didn't, or I probably would have torn tendons in my fingers (He had three of my four fingers on my left hand between his teeth). I waited for him to howl again, and took my hand away. Doug was there by then, and pulled him out from under the truck and I clamped down on my hand with it's mate.

Doug hauled Jack up and into the cab. A passerby, some Linda Richmond yenta, dyed hair jogging-suit wearing, rocket-fucking-scientist stood there blathering "Riding your dogs back of your truck is against the law! There's a fine for that! I'm calling the cops! I'm memorizing your plate...(she starts walking away, shaking her finger at me) I'm calling the police! You're horrible people."

"Uh, thanks for your compassion, ma'am. Really. You're too kind. Memorize that plate, burn it into your soul. Enjoy it. God bless you. Thanks for your help. Have a great day."

That's what I actually said to her.

I should have told her my name, gave her my address and offered to clean the dog shit up off the road that he (Jack) sent flying in his fit of fear, seeing as leaving dog shit on the road is also "against the law."

I then could have walked up and shook her hand with all the blood gushing out of my fingers which would be covered with his feces, but she may have fainted and I could be facing assault charges.

I actually wanted to hit her. I am not sure what stopped me. Possibly the fact that we were ready to jet, and possibly the fact that my ongoing string of sarcastic retorts to her finger-waggingness had me somewhat entertained with myself, and I wanted to keep it up.

Call me Sarcasmo.

We rushed home, because our vet is closed on Sunday we needed to call the office and get the emergency vet on call info. I also had some wounds to tend to. I had an empty Dunkin' Donuts bag wrapped around my hand and was applying pressure to my fingers to stop the bleeding.

After waiting on hold for eternity with the answering service, we were told where our local 24 hr. emergency vet clinic was (I called first and told them we were en route) and we got him checked out.

We spent about 2.5 hours there, with a very pissed off and antsy Geoff saying over and over "When are we going to the pond so the dogs can swmi???!!!" He totally didn't understand or grasp the gravity of the situation, nor did he understand why we were there, even though he saw what happened and heard the cries of his puppy. Duh?

The vet was cool, she told us that she didn't think his leg was broken because he'd be communicating that to us. She told us he probably injured the nerves running down from his shoulder into his upper leg. She said the nerves should heal, as long as they aren't detatched or torn. If they are, he'll stop trying to use the leg as it isn't healing, and eventually the leg will atrophy and will have to be amputated.

We had her x-ray everything, just to be sure, and turns out indeed nothing was broken. They tended to his superficial scrapes and cuts on his legs, and gave us antibiotics for those. He's to have 2 adult asprins daily, and was able to walk out of the vet's office to the truck with very little problem. Her theory about the nerve damage seems to be true, and he is doing better already but that may be because of the pain med they gave him there. We'll see how he responds tomorrow to the asprin.

He keeps face-planting, over-compensating for his leg and then missing the step and wiping out. It's like a puppy drunk or something.

When we were at the clinic, he'd fall 1/2 the time he stepped. Now it seems to be one in every 10 steps. He took a big nap in the kennel when we got home and I think I'll kennel him tonight so he can be restricted in movement. I'm praying that it will all heal and be okay. He's so active and happy. I know he'll continue to be that way if he has to be a triped... I just would rather have all of his peds... know what I'm saying?

Geoff's in the livingroom praising Jack and telling him how relieved he is that he's okay... so that's nice to see Geoff does understand what happened today. He can be a bit of a wally sometimes.

Thicky McThick-Thickleston.

Anyway -- tomorrow I'll come home for lunch and check on him, take him out, give him meds, see how he's doing. He's so sweet and lovey... they loved him at the clinic. People would walk up to him and he'd just wag his moppy tail and look at them, and they'd melt. All the clinic workers said that about him.

I'm so relieved. But still kinda scared.

My hand hurts like hell, but I took Ibuprofen and I am praising God that the silly thing was able to bite me at all after what he went through. We didn't take me to the hospital. The wounds on my fingers are minor, and it feels more like I slammed my hand in a door than my dog bit me. That's the not pulling away thing... lucky for me.

And I had a tetnus (sp? it doesn't come up in my spell check) when Gonzo poked me in the eye in 2001, so I'm all set with that... no worries for me.

As for the woman who now will mutter my license plate in her sleep forever and ever, I honestly don't know what to say. I wish she'd been more helpful and supportive. I wish she'd asked if there was anything she could do instead of turning into someone I would like to run over with my truck.

If she called the cops, they haven't called here.


Will they mail us a citation?

Will they just tell her "Sorry Good Citizen, dropping a dime on someone is an acceptable thing to do but we didn't see them so we don't know if it's we can't fine them! But keep vigilant! Eyes ever open!"

Are we susceptible to a fine? What is the fine? What is the actual law?

I thought the law was that if the dogs were in the truck in the back and were restrained that it was alright.

But ignorance of the actual rule of law doesn't exempt me from it. If we did do something wrong, I'm okay with it if we get fined.

I'm okay with it, no matter what the fine, because my dog's alive.

And even if we didn't break any laws, yes, we should have known better and should just get the cap on the truck. We were waiting until I made some more money, but man alive -- we're getting a cap and getting it fast.

I learned a valuable lesson today. One that makes me sick to my stomach that it happened at all. One that makes me give thanks and praise that it all worked out so far the way it has.

In other non-dog related news, the picture of Geoff as a Malfoy and his before/after pics were a great big hit with the world. I got some funny assed email about them. He does look American History X with short hair. That's why I like to grow it out as long as I can. Hippie kid with soft blonde beard in the future, instead of skinhead with no shirt on stomping on people.

He may be part of a conservative family, but we're not THAT conservative. No way, no how.

My hand is starting to hurt and cramp. I am gonna give it a rest and get off of here.

Thanks for reading -- and please don't send me email about how I suck for what happened to my dog. You think I'm not feeling shitty about it as is?

As Jackson Browne once sang:

"Don't confront me with my failures, I've not forgotten them."

And I won't forget this one too soon. Trust me. Your salt isn't needed in my wound. Unless the yenta lady is your mom. In which case, go sit with her, have cawffee and tawk. Discuss me amongst yourselves. m'kay?

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