Absolutely, there are no photos to go with this entry. Nothing in the world could make me want to provide other people with the images in my head.
Saturday morning after Staff Meeting, Bernie and I thought it might be a good idea to take the dogs for a walk in the brisk autumn air. The dogs thought so too, so we set off across a local house construction site -- not active, not when this county leads the nation in foreclosures and the real estate market is deader than Count Dracula -- so that the dogs could run off leash and take a nice crap in the weeds of Lot # 15. All was well, but then ...
There is a huge pile of compressed dirt that has made for a lovely lookout for over a year on the far western side of the proposed housing development. It's a great place for flatlanders to walk up and see the surrounding countryside. Bernie decided to walk to the top, and of course, the dogs followed him. I mumbled something about "You guys really make me nervous" because the trio of males was skirting the part of the pile of dirt where dirt has been mechanically scooped out, forming a cliff of clay.
As I began walking away from the path to the top up the side of the hill, Howie scooted back down the little trail to be with me. Of course. But then the other "Of course" is that Sebastian, deep in the throes of off-leash chasing Howie, instead of taking the path, tried to come down the hill.
He slid about two feet, could not stop his downward progression to the edge of the dirt cliff, and decided that he could do best by jumping -- straight out into the air, about 12 feet above the ground. I screamed as I saw him drop, his drunken-fruit-bat ears flaring in the wind of his fall.
As he fell, I saw compound fractures, a broken back, multiple legs broken, a frantic seriously injured dog having to be transported in a blanket stretcher to the nearest emergency vet a half an hour away.
Then he stood up. Fell. Stood up again. Staggered toward me, limping. I made him lie down, and sent Bernie and Howie to get the car so that we could transport him. His right front foot, his lip, chin and one forearm were scraped to brushburns. He's a good dog; he lay still under my hand, just twisting his head so that he could watch Bernie and How out of sight. I prayed to St. Francis to intercede for the stupid pup.
A few minutes later, Bernie pulled his car across the construction site with Alex, whose appearance the pup could not resist. He jumped up, and although a bit wobbly, climbed into the car with her.
Having seen him fall, his condition seems nothing short of miraculous to me. I'm going to have nightmares about this incident for the rest of my life, but he is fine. Nothing is broken, and he's been inviting beatings from Howie all weekend.
Dumb ass dog.
You can't imagine how glad I am that he's all right.
4 comments:
Wow that is too much stress! Is Molly keeping Seb company?
Gee whiz! What a nightmare. Remind me sometime to share with your Caribou's stunt on a search once - gave me about 100 gray hairs. Glad the little s*%&^ is okay.
Daddy was a border collie, momma was a fruit bat. Or a lemming. Or Sally Fields. (It was Bernie who first observed that, dressed as he is in black and white, Sebastian looked remarkably like a Flying Nun.)
He was a little more content to lie quietly yesterday than usual, but is otherwise unsubdued. And Molly would like to keep that black, berry-looking nose company. And away from her (MY!) man.
I would have had a heart-attack right there on the spot. I love dogs but sometimes they can be so very stupid. I'm glad he's okay.
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