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A Good and Important Pup
Dec. 10th, 2017 12:42 pmThis post is brought to you from a blanket fort on my living room floor, which is where I'm going to be spending the foreseeable future...
Saturday lunchtime saw me basically throwing a credit card at a vet and going FIX THIS DOG.
She'd chased a deer out of the woods and onto the main road; the deer made it the dog didn't. I found out later that she'd been hit by a van, the driver of which had promptly fucked off. You know what, I hope my dog fucked up your van when she was bouncing off it, arsehole. At the time all I heard was the crunch and then her screaming (dogs, as it transpires, can scream) and I was sure she was dead. I honestly don't think I'll ever know how she managed to drag herself through a quarter mile of thick undergrowth, over and under fallen trees, to get back to me.
I have a renewed respect for the kindness of strangers. A woman who'd seen the accident pulled over and and trekked down into the woods to look for me so I knew what had happened. A guy I only know by his dog's name carried her up to the nearest access road for me. A woman whose only connection to me is that her dog plays with mine drove us to the veterinary hospital and held my hand while they did an ultrasound on her to see if she'd ruptured anything internally.
God, I was in bits. I don't have a well paying job. I don't have a partner or children. I don't have any particular talents. I do have This Dog.
Somehow she managed to avoid any internal injuries (thank you, God, I really will go to Christmas Mass this year, honest) and although she has a broken leg that's probably going to require another credit card's worth of orthopedic surgery I don't even care because she's going to be okay.
Freya is being a brave little toaster and is dealing with this whole chain of events better than me. When they brought her up from the surgical floor to show me that she was, you know, alive she was trying to chase the cats being brought into reception in pet carriers, and, like, STOP CHASING CATS. YOU HAVE A BROKEN LEG. STOP CHASING ANYTHING. THIS IS HOW THIS HAPPENED.
Saturday lunchtime saw me basically throwing a credit card at a vet and going FIX THIS DOG.
She'd chased a deer out of the woods and onto the main road; the deer made it the dog didn't. I found out later that she'd been hit by a van, the driver of which had promptly fucked off. You know what, I hope my dog fucked up your van when she was bouncing off it, arsehole. At the time all I heard was the crunch and then her screaming (dogs, as it transpires, can scream) and I was sure she was dead. I honestly don't think I'll ever know how she managed to drag herself through a quarter mile of thick undergrowth, over and under fallen trees, to get back to me.
I have a renewed respect for the kindness of strangers. A woman who'd seen the accident pulled over and and trekked down into the woods to look for me so I knew what had happened. A guy I only know by his dog's name carried her up to the nearest access road for me. A woman whose only connection to me is that her dog plays with mine drove us to the veterinary hospital and held my hand while they did an ultrasound on her to see if she'd ruptured anything internally.
God, I was in bits. I don't have a well paying job. I don't have a partner or children. I don't have any particular talents. I do have This Dog.
Somehow she managed to avoid any internal injuries (thank you, God, I really will go to Christmas Mass this year, honest) and although she has a broken leg that's probably going to require another credit card's worth of orthopedic surgery I don't even care because she's going to be okay.
Freya is being a brave little toaster and is dealing with this whole chain of events better than me. When they brought her up from the surgical floor to show me that she was, you know, alive she was trying to chase the cats being brought into reception in pet carriers, and, like, STOP CHASING CATS. YOU HAVE A BROKEN LEG. STOP CHASING ANYTHING. THIS IS HOW THIS HAPPENED.