Thursday, September 17, 2015

September 17 – “Pedestrian vs. Vehicle”

Well, I didn’t do such a good job of remaining bedridden for 24 hours.  Yesterday morning we decided to at least show up at our dance class and watch.  I was ready to give it a try and see what I could do.  Chris was considerably more cautious.  As it turned out, her concerns and my determination were moot points. 

Soon after we turned onto 61st Street, one of the busiest on the Island, Chris noticed a pedestrian – a small dog - trying to cross the street.  Not such a good idea.  And to make matters worse, the poor little guy was gimping it, holding a back leg up the air as he drifted through traffic.  Chris slowed way down, willing to give the pup a wide berth to complete its mission.  Suddenly, however, all of our plans for the day changed.  The dog gave it one final surge to get across the street, which, because of its listing limp, put it right in our lane of traffic and right in front of our car.  By this time Chris was barely moving, so she hit the brakes full on.  And about the time we jerked to a stop, we heard the yelps from under the car.  Uh oh.  Not a good sign.  Chris slammed the car into park with a cry, “Oh no!  I hit it.  I hit it!” I got out to survey the damage (I almost said “jumped out” but that wouldn’t have been accurate by any stretch of the imagination.  My back really did hurt, but I was being brave). 

The little one was indeed under the car, right about in the very middle, hunched over and shivering.  Cars began to honk and swerve around us, scurrying to wherever it was they had to be “right now.”  About this time a lady on foot ran over to see if she could help.  She was a bit out of control, though, and started screaming at Chris to “Move up!  Move up!”  Chris was already shaken up, and you can imagine what was going through her mind.  I tried to calm things down a little and told Chris to move the car forward slowly.  I didn’t want to scare the dog into darting into traffic the other direction.  I had to urge her several times.  Found out later she was worried that she had actually run over the dog and it was under the wheel and she was going to hear a smash or pop or something any second.  As she inched forward another car whipped around from behind and slammed on her brakes right next to us.  She frantically informed us that there was a vet just ahead that we could take the dog to.  Thanks, lady.  Already stored that info.  It was our vet’s office.  She then whipped around in front of us, jumped out of her car and began digging into her trunk.  She raced back to where I was softly talking to the injured animal and petting it.  She had with her a big towel that she said we could wrap the dog in.  Better than the box we had in our car, I guess.  She then further informed us that she was a product rep for the vet and she was on her way there right then and we could follow her so we didn’t get lost.  And then she raced back to her car.  (“So we didn’t get lost.”  Right.  The vet’s office entrance was the very next driveway.  I think we can find it.  Appreciated her help, though.  Especially the towel.  And I love watching people’s responses to crises). 

We managed to gather up our new little charge.  Suddenly the helpful but very loud lady was backpedaling and wishing us well.  And there I stood on the side of 61st street with a bundle of injured dog, thinking, “I’m afraid I know where this is going.”  Somehow we managed to locate the vet’s office, and made our way inside.  They put us in the little room where they take you when you have to have a pet put to sleep, the “Bad News Room,” and told us to wait.  So much for our dance class.  (And as a side note, I noticed a call from the hearing aid place.  I returned it, and they said my appointment for the day had been moved to Thursday afternoon, “as I requested.”  I put up a bit of a fight, because I never made that request and because I really wanted to try out the new hearing aids.  But it was becoming rapidly apparent that we would have other things to do over the next few hours.  The aide came in and gave us some Good Samaritan paperwork to fill out.  Then she asked Killer Question Number One: “Are you going to keep her?”  There it was.  “Keep her” would mean paying the bills for whatever was about to happen.  It would mean shots and flea treatments and food.  (Just what we need after putting a $750 hospital bill on our credit card.  Can you set up a “Fund Me” account for a dog?).  It would mean introducing her to Fritz and Heidi, our other dogs.  It could possibly mean house breaking.  And before we could answer she moved on to Killer Question Number Two: “Have you named her yet?”  Whoa, there.  Slow down now.  I know the psychology behind that one.  If we name it we are about 90 times more likely to adopt it.  She pressed, saying she needed to put a name in the orders.  So I said the first name that popped into my head.  No thought involved.  The all-time great, go-to name I use for anyone whose actual name I can’t remember.  Fred.  I know.  She’s a girl.  But Chris and I are so on the same wavelength.  She quickly explained that we named all our female dogs after my grandmother, who threatened to come back and haunt us if we ever gave her name to one of our children.  Her name?  FREDericke.  Perfect. 

The doc finally came in and gave her the once-over.  She wanted some x-rays to diagnose the limp, but was generally optimistic.  Meds for pain.  Antibiotics.  ($271.35 so far).  Crate rest for a few days.  Return for a cracked tooth that needed to be pulled (another $150).  Return later for regular shots ($80-$100).  Return later for spaying (“just a few hundred dollars”).  So, after a few hours of observation we could come back and take her on home.  We were kind of reeling at that point.  At least I was.  Chris asked what would happen if we didn’t take her.  They would do enough to make sure she was comfortable, then send her to the shelter.  And with that, Chris was hooked.  Maybe a little bit of guilt for hitting her, but mainly Chris’ massively oversized heart for the stray kicked in.  Nope.  Not to the shelter.  We agreed that if the owner didn’t show up by the time we returned, then we would take her.  And about four hours later … there is a new Vaughan cousin.  Come by sometime and meet Fred.  Oh, and Nathan gave her the perfect middle name, too: “Roadkill,” in honor of what she almost was.  FREDericke Roadkill Vaughan.  Has a certain ring to it. 

2 Timothy 3:14-15 says, “But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have become convinced of, because you know those from whom you learned it, and how from infancy you have known the holy Scriptures, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus.”


Father, we’ll trust you and your resources yet again as we nurse this little lady back to health.  Guess I’ll have some company as we gimp around the house together.  Amen.

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