Smacked By A Truck or Mackie’s Near Death Experience
Normally, my writing runs more to the sublime–sometimes a light touch of irony or a subtle attempt at satire.
This post, however, is a bit different, as I, self-proclaimed “Top Dog of Central Oregon” and ultimate canine real estate guru, recently survived a near death experience.
Sunday, January 11th.
It started like any other day in Central Oregon–my master headed out to play some early morning tennis at the Athletic Club of Bend; my mistress and I opted for a trek to the national forest beyond Tetherow, where I could gavotte, unencumbered by the constraint of a leash.
The Hike . . . My Last?
We savored the freshness of the lovely Central Oregon morning, reveling in the beauty and solitude of the trail.
After trotting 5 or so miles, we headed for home. I was a ways behind my mistress, having stopped to sniff an especially aromatic bush. As we approached Skyline Ranch Road, I saw what appeared to be a friend on the other side of the road, and could not contain myself. I bolted.
The impact was both instantaneous and sickening! Apparently, a speeding pickup and I had arrived at the same point simultaneously.
Crumpled on the road
I vaguely remember my mistress hovering over me and weeping as I lay crumpled on the side of the road. I was embarrassed as my bowels released. Fortunately, the traumatized driver of the pickup returned and helped to load me in the bed of the truck. My insides felt weird; I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.
We arrived home in a matter of minutes. I didn’t feel too good . . . my master took a look at me, and began to cry also. Through the fog, I heard him say to my mistress that he wasn’t sure we’d make it to the vet in time.
Emergency Clinic
The emergency clinic did a great job of stabilizing me and said to my master that there was a glimmer of hope. The myriad of tests showed head trauma, a collapsed lung, abdominal bleeding, and a dislocated hip. No wonder I didn’t feel so hot!
But, I’m pretty tough! I made it through a long night, and despite all the tubes attached to me, actually felt a bit better in the morning. I drank some water; I peed. But, oh was I sore!
I spent another night under observation at Bend Veterinary Specialists; the staff was so nice to me. They tried to fix my hip, and, in soothing voices, tried to get me to eat.
Homeward Bound
They ran more tests on me, then, remarkably they told me I could go home.
My red blood cell count had improved, as had my pneumothorax. The internal bleeding had subsided. My hip would need surgery in a week or two. All that seemed so trivial now. I could go home!
Training My Master
Once home, I spent some time training my master, letting him know that I’m no longer interested in his dry food, but would prefer the nasty canned stuff (“Green Beef Tripe in Shitty Beef Broth”)
that he’d bought originally as a special inducement to get me to eat.
“Chicks Love Scars”
I had my hip operated on by Dr. Parchman two weeks ago; they did what’s called an FHO (femoral head ostectomy). I’m making good progress and feel better everyday . . . the future is bright.
My master jokes that the scar on my hip is cool (“Chicks love scars,” he says). He also jokes that he’s now got a very expensive dog. Give yours a hug . . .
