I promise this will be my last post about the letter ‘B’…or at least for a while.
On Sunday night, one of my woofs jumped over the chain link fence, only to get her back paw stuck in the top of the fence. So there she was, hanging upside down by her toe and wimpering in pain. My husband and I did what most parents do for their ‘children’, we tried to help.
First my husband attempted to lift poor Sadie so that he could wiggle her foot free but she bit into his forearm before he even had the chance to help her. Then I calmly tried to assuage her pain by petting her on the head until she turned and bit down on my wrist. After a few surreal seconds of watching her gnaw away, I managed to knee her loose, only to lose my footing and fall towards her. Needless to say, she reattached her teeth into my shoulder just long enough to draw blood.
By this point my husband had returned to the backyard with fence cutters and cut her down without any further incident.
We then proceeded to spend the following 5 hours at the ER being poked, prodded, and stitched until the wee hours of the morning. After filling our many prescriptions and stocking up on ace bandages and tape, we headed home to check on our little girl.
There she was, on our back porch, wagging her tail so hard, so happy to see us. And NOTHING wrong with her foot. How can that be? She must be some breed of Super puppy! So we pat her on the head, let her lick at our wrapped wounds, and curled up in bed with the fur ball.
After all, how can I stay mad at this face?