Bloody Night Adventures

by Asa Maria Bradley

Horrible screams echoed from the bottom of the garden as the writer’s hands were poised over the keyboard. She had spent most of the day procrastinating and now as the clock struck midnight, she was finally ready to put some words onto paper. Then, the high pitched sounds outside the house froze her blood and stilled her limber fingers. It sounded as if one of God’s living creatures were being mauled to death. Acting on pure protective instinct, she rushed through the sliding back doors and down the garden path to the source of the screams. Searching in the darkness she spotted a patch of white fur curled up in a small ball, amber eyes begged her to help take away the pain, to end the suffering…

Okay, so what I found was my shepherd-mix Sammy, once again he’d tried to play with a porcupine. To my extremely friendly dog, everything that moves on two or more legs is a potential playmate. This is the third time he’s tried to join the porcupine gang. It’s the first time however, that he’s been screaming in pain after the meeting. Usually he runs up to me, nose and chest covered in needles, a sheepish grin on his face, trying to pretend nothing unusual has happened. This time he was really in pain and since he almost never whines or whimpers, hearing him screaming out in anguish was very hard for me.

I tried to pull out the needles, but since he was at the bottom of our extremely steep hill garden, I couldn’t see very well in the dark. After I retrieved a head lamp and tweezers from the house, I managed to get a few needles out of his leg, but it hurt him so much each time I pulled that my gentle puppy nibbled at my fingers to get me to stop. At one time, it caused so much pain he clamped down fairly hard while screaming extra loud. Time to take him to the emergency vet clinic, but how would I get him up the steep hill? He’s too heavy for me to carry up the slope.

I walked in front of him, repeating cheerfully through tears: “Come on Sammy, let’s go for a ride in the car. Let’s go for a ride. You want to go in the car?” He limped on three legs up the hill, alternating between happily panting in anticipation of one of his favorite activities—second best after going for a walk—and yelping each time his damaged leg’s front paw touched the ground. We finally made it to the garage and into the car. I drove extremely carefully to the vet, trying not to jolt him in the back. When we got to the clinic, they hurriedly showed us into one of the examination, rooms eventhough the waiting room had two other dogs in it. Sammy limped down the corridor, screaming on each step. This is when I discovered that I was covered in blood from pulling the needles out of his leg. The vet was visibly disappointed when I told him the case he had in front of him was nothing worse than a silly dog trying to play with a porcupine.
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One hour and $237 later, I brought home a puppy that was limping groggily from pain and the anesthesia. I pulled into the garage and opened the back door of the car, expecting Sammy to exit the car with some of his usual enthusiasm. Instead, he was cowering in the back, not wanting to put any weight on his sore leg. I ended up carrying him to his bed where he laid all night, whimpering every now and then.

This morning my baby was a little more alert, but the pain killers and the penicillin he has to take makes him sleepy. The needles penetrated some major muscles in his leg and it will probably be sore for a couple of days. According to the vet, some of the needles had already migrated through the muscle, so there may be some in the leg that the clinic couldn’t get to. I have to monitor the leg daily and pull out anything that pokes out in the next day or two.

Meanwhile, Sammy is milking his suffering for all it’s worth. After taking his medicine this morning and receiving treats for being such a good boy, he scratched the milk bone box with his healthy paw to get some more. When I said no, he held up the damaged leg, hung his head low and whimpered. A performance worthy of an Oscar. I gave him another cookie.
(Moved from my old blog: http://writingvalkyrie.blogspot.com.)