It has happened again, folks. Another little needy pup has come into my life and stolen my heart. I can’t really say that I will be keeping this one–my goal is to foster him until he is well and then adopt him out to a permanent, loving home. If no suitable adopter is found, well, I’ve got room for one more, I guess.
On the second day of the new year, this little guy was brought into my veterinary clinic on an emergency basis. He was rushed to the treatment area for triage because he had been run over, not once, but twice by his owners in their driveway. He wasn’t walking, was shocky, had blood in his mouth and, as visible in the picture above, road rash and irritation to his skin. His lungs were harsh and he looked miserable. Of course, because of the trauma, he immediately received an injection of morphine to keep him comfortable until other diagnostics could be performed.
His owners felt horrible. The family had three young boys who always left toys in the driveway, so they assumed that was what they had run over. They literally had no financial means to even pay for the visit, much less any further diagnostics and treatments. To alleviate his suffering, euthanasia was decided upon.
I was involved with his triage, but not with the conversation with his owners. One of my co-workers asked me to go ahead and place an IV catheter in him as we were going to perform a mercy euthanasia. I, like everyone else, knew this was probably the kindest thing as this pup had to have serious internal trauma or, at the least, broken bones. I asked my coworker to give me a minute to just talk with the pup and then I would put the catheter in.
You know what the little guy did? He wiggled his tail. Morphine is a great narcotic and all, but it doesn’t inject gratitude into a dog. He whacked his tail back and forth, faster and faster as I spoke quietly to him. Well, if his tail works, I thought, maybe more of him does, too. I opened his kennel door all the way, stepped back, squatted down and said to him, “Here, little puppy. Come see me.” He heaved himself up and did.
If you follow some of the stories here about Grimm, you know that his tail was his saving grace. It appeared that this pup’s tail would also be his savior. At that point, I had made up my mind. I would tell the family about his extraordinary will and, if they couldn’t treat him, I would ask them to sign ownership over to me.
My coworker came back and said the family was ready to say goodbye to him whenever the catheter was in. I told her that I needed to talk to them first. I went into the exam room to find the mom of the family and her oldest son, who was probably about ten years old. The father and the other young boys were too distraught to be in the clinic, much less the exam room. The child in the room was crying but he had pulled his hoodie over his face to hide the fact and was trying, but not succeeding, to be tough. I explained to them that we still didn’t know the extent of the damages, but that he could walk (with a limp) and was more bright and alert and less shocky. She told me they absolutely could not afford to do anything for the pup. I gave her the option of transferring ownership and she readily agreed. I was very frank with her and told her that if he was too damaged and seemed to be suffering, I would euthanize him. If he lived, I would either place him with a new owner or keep him.
Having that sort of conversation in front of a young kid is hard. I knew her boy loved the pup and was angry at the situation. To see your parents struggle day by day to make ends meet is one thing, but to have it drug out in front of you when a life is on the line has to be excruciating. I sat next to him and talked, really talked, to him. We spoke about the pup and what he meant to him and I told him all about me and my life with dogs. You could see the anger drain from him. All I wanted was for the boy to know that I understood his love for his pup and that I would give the pooch nothing less. After our conversation, he sincerely thanked me for taking care of his dog. Maybe there is hope for the human race, after all.
After I became the four month old pup’s official owner, multiple x-rays were taken and, miraculously, nothing was broken. His lungs were severely bruised, but his diaphragm was intact and his internal organs did not appear crushed or ruptured. I swear this puppy must be made of rubber. Pit bulls are tough, though.
The little pup whose name was “Crash” is now here at my house with me. He coughs some and is still limping on his front leg, but his tail wags faster even than Grimm’s. He is now on oral pain medication and antibiotics for the skin injuries. He was fairly thin and covered in fleas, so I treated him for internal and external parasites, bathed the tire tread marks off him, upped his food intake and confined him to strict crate rest. Zella has already decided he’s her baby and Grimm thinks he makes an awesome little buddy. Charley just sniffed him all over, looked at me as if to say, “Another one?” and went back to sleep. Because Charley was originally run over when I first took him on almost 15 years ago, he and the pup (who needs a new name, by the way) can commiserate together later.
Oh, new year! You didn’t even give me a whole 48 hours before bombarding me with new dilemmas. If I can give a dog a new lease on life, then I won’t complain. Just saying. Hopefully in a few weeks this little guy will be better than new and on his way to a new home…or here with the rest of the crew, devising strategies to make life more entertaining. Either way works for me.
Grimm's Furry Tail 
