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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