I was standing in front of our shop while W backed the four-wheeler up to a trailer. Eleven-year-old J came out with our little Pomchi, Bear.
I looked down the pathway to the greenbelt behind our property and saw nine-year-old C walking by with her friend, T, from the neighbourhood. They waved and said something, but they were a bit too far away for me to hear it, so I just waved back.
A minute later, Bear went running through the gap in the gate, barking madly. There is no point calling him back as he does not listen. I heard him bark and bark and bark as he ran behind our yard and out to where the girls were, behind a stand of aspen trees to the right behind our shop.
Then I heard the girls start screaming.
I wasn't sure if they were just goofing around, but when the screaming got louder and more frantic, I ran toward where they were and yelled, “WHAT IS GOING ON? WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING?”
They just kept screaming and didn't answer.
I ran back toward the gate where Bear had squeezed through. W heard me screaming and he ran to the fence, leaped over it, and ran down the path to the greenbelt.
I was slower climbing over the fence in my Uggs slipper boots. I called back at J, “Shut the four-wheeler off!”
As soon as my feet hit the ground, W came back into the pathway with C close behind him. There was so much noise and panic going on, I couldn't tell what he said. I heard him yell “DYING!”
I screamed, “WHO'S DYING? WHAT???”
C was sobbing loudly and screaming, “BEAR! BEAR! OH, MY POOR BEAR!”
“WHAT? WHAT? WHAT HAPPENED TO BEAR?” I screamed, scared half to death.
Then I saw Bear lying limp on his side in the path in front of W.
I didn't get an answer but I shrieked “NOOOOOO!” when I saw him.
I ran to pick up my little dog, refusing to accept he could be dead.
Bear sprang to his feet and limped off rapidly in front of me. He ran through the gap between the old broken gate and the fence post, on up toward the house.
“He's going off to find a place to die,” I thought.
I got over the fence and ran after him, finding him under the lilac tree by the front of the house.
I spoke softly as I crouched down, reaching in to attempt to pick him up. “Bear... Bear... come here, sweetie. It's okay...”
He gave me a sharp growl and backed away. I thought, “I need to get into the house and phone the vet right away.”
I left Bear under the tree and ran through the basement door, with my other dog, Nova, leaping around beside me, chasing me like it was play time.
“Take the dog! Take the dog!” I ordered J and C, who were close afoot. I couldn't have a hyper puppy potentially upsetting Bear if she were to try to play with him. I didn't know what was wrong with Bear at this point, having not seen any blood or heard the story from C.
“Take the dog! Take the dog!” I ordered J and C, who were close afoot. I couldn't have a hyper puppy potentially upsetting Bear if she were to try to play with him. I didn't know what was wrong with Bear at this point, having not seen any blood or heard the story from C.
J took Nova up to her kennel.
C ran back outside to check on Bear. Soon she yelled, “Mom! Bear's over here!”
Bear was on our back deck. I felt relief knowing he was able to climb stairs.
Behind me, I saw T's dad go running across our yard. I still didn't know what happened at this point, if there was a bear outside, attacking T, and somehow my dog managed to get away, or what.
“What happened? Why is Bear injured? Where is his injury?” I asked C.
C was crying as she pointed to his side and said, “That's where T's dog bit him. He picked Bear up like he was a chew toy and shook him. Bear landed on the ground and just lay there. I thought he was dead!”
I approached Bear on the deck as he sat motionless by the sliding glass door, staring at me with his big dark chocolate-chip eyes, waiting to go into the kitchen.
I tried to pick him up, but he backed away, not wanting to be touched. I saw his wound. There was no blood, but a patch of fur had been torn clean off, right above his right hip, leaving pale pink skin exposed and bulging. His paws and under-belly fur were a bit wet and sprizzly from having been in tall grass.
C opened the sliding glass door and Bear went straight in and lay down under the kitchen table. I went to my cell phone and called the vet's emergency number. I stepped out to the deck and spoke with the answering service staff member, who told me the on-call vet would get back to me within five or ten minutes.
I ran upstairs to get Bear's kennel and brought it back to the kitchen. Then I crawled under the table to try to get him. He allowed me to pick him up. I placed him in front of his kennel's open door and said “kennel”. He walked in and lay down in a cinnamon bun shape, staring out at me with his big black eyes.
He wasn't doing his usual excited quivering. He was very still. That worried me.
T's mom, L, came running through the kitchen door, nearly crying as she said, “Oh my gosh, I am so upset! Is Bear okay? My daughter KNOWS not to let the dog off the leash. She is in so much trouble!”
As we talked about the incident, looking at Bear as he lay quietly in his kennel, my phone rang. It was the vet. She asked me some questions about his condition. I described it as best I could. She ensured that he was able to turn his head, open his eyes, wasn't breathing differently, etc. She instructed me on what to do to check how his blood was circulating, as an indicator for or against internal injuries. I pressed up above his top front teeth for a few seconds, then released my finger. The white spot left behind by the pressure quickly turned back to the usual pinkish black of his mouth. That was a good sign.
While I talked to the vet, Bear got up and walked to the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. L, C, and I followed him. He went to his favourite corner on top of a pile of clothes I save up till there are enough to bring to the thrift store. It is dark and out of the way. He knew he needed that little private spot.
In the end, the vet told me to clean the wound and then apply either chlorhexadine (which we didn't have), Betadine (which we also didn't have), or chamomile tea or black tea (of which we have heaps).
“You mean like Earl Grey?” I asked.
“Yes, that will work,” she said.
L had some saline wound cleaning spray at her house, so she ran home to get it.
The vet told me basically to watch and wait. If any changes of concern happened, such as Bear becoming lethargic, I should get him in to the vet at once, but for now, he was good to lie quietly and rest.
When L came back, I sprayed some cleaner on his wound. I was worried the feeling of moisture landing on his wound would make him cry out, but I was relieved when he didn't even flinch at it.
Over the next few hours, various family members and I checked on him frequently. We brought his kennel back upstairs and led him to it.
For the first couple hours, Bear was very still. Maybe he was in shock. He didn't want any water. He didn't even want to lick my hand or my arm, which normally he does eagerly. We brought him his favourite food – cheese – but he had zero interest in it. He didn't even want to sniff it. He just lay there looking at us, right past the cheese.
After a few hours, when C and I were checking on him, C said, “We should do a cheese test on him!”
“Ah, yes. Good idea. Let's do the Havarti test,” I said.
I went down to the kitchen and opened the cheese drawer in the fridge. Bear usually comes running when he hears that drawer open. I cut off a hunk of Havarti and headed back, running into C with Bear on a leash halfway down the stairs. I'm not sure if Bear ventured out because he heard the cheese drawer or if he didn't want me to be away from him. When I offered him some Havarti, he still wasn't interested.
We led him back to his kennel and left the cheese in front of him. We offered him some water in his little dish, but he didn't want any. He did, however, lick my fingertips after I'd dipped them in his water bowl. That, too, encouraged me.
That is where it stands right now. He is still lying on his side in his kennel, looking out at me when I look at him. No tail wagging yet. No excited quivering. I keep praying for my beloved little dog to heal up. Having him hurt hurts me more than I can describe.
 |
| Bear sat motionless in his kennel |
 |
| The wound is above his right hip |
 |
| More of a close-up of the wound |
 |
| Bear went upstairs to the bedroom |
UPDATE: Next day, Monday, September 24, 2018
I woke at 3-something in the morning, worried about Bear. A few hours later, I got a message from a friend I've known since we were ten years old. She told me she had put $250 on Bear's account at my vet's office.
If I hadn't been so tired, I would have cried.
My 9-year-old, CHL, and I headed up to the vet, an hour's drive north on the highway. We stopped to meet my oldest daughter, N, at work on the highway expansion project. She, as well as one of my other daughters who is also away from home, is worried sick about the dog that captured our hearts.
The vet told us she needed about an hour to shave Bear's fur around the wound so she could do a better assessment, and she recommended an x-ray. She warned us of the possibility of exploratory surgery if indicated.
CHL and I went out to do errands for an hour, then returned to relatively good news: There was no need at this juncture for surgery. Oral antibiotics and painkillers were provided, and wound care instructions were given, along with chlorhexidine wash and ointment.
The bill total was $267. And it turned out my friend added another $250 to Bear's account later, just in case, and so it was more than covered.
I am speechless with gratitude, tired beyond words, and silently praying that this dog that brought me necessary healing will himself be healed.
I am speechless with gratitude, tired beyond words, and silently praying that this dog that brought me necessary healing will himself be healed.
 |
| Bear rests in his kennel literally at my feet |
