Shortly after the fowl incidents detailed in my last blog entry, I was asked by another friend to watch her rottweiler/lab mix, Gadget. No problem. One dog is really not that much more difficult than two (as long as she's not homicidal towards chickens), so I said sure. Evie usually spends the day outside in my fenced-in yard while I'm at work, so I invited my friend to leave Gadget with her in the yard.
I get home around 4:45, and both Gadget and Evie are at the gate to meet me. I squeeze through the gate and shut it behind me, leaving my car running in the road. I manage to herd both dogs into my screened-in porch and shut the doors. I roll open the gate, pull the car in, park it, am out of the car and literally 2 feet from having the gate completely closed, when the dogs throw their collective weights against the doors of the porch, break them open, escape from the gate, and take off.
Fuck.
I start walking down the road towards the dogs, not wanting to chase them lest they start to think it's a game (as dogs are wont to do). They run, stop, sniff, run again, and are getting closer and closer to the intersection of the main road near my house. Not good. Not good at all. I continue to chase/not chase them to that very intersection, where they take to gallivanting around the road. Awesome. My own dog I am hysterically concerned about, but I am even more concerned about the dog whose safety has been entrusted to me for the night. I call to her, "Gadget! Please don't get hit by a car!"
At that moment a car appears over the hill. I run into the road with my hands up, the universal signal to slow down. They pass, without incident. I breathe a sigh of relief. I turn to look for Evie, who is over in a ditch investigating. I turn around in time to see another car coming. Gadget is over on the side of the road. Again, I'm in the middle of the road with my hands up. The car slows. Suddenly, Gadget turns and sprints across the road.
Thud.
The sight of her getting hit by that car, and especially the sound, is forever imprinted on my mind. The car doesn't roll over her, but Gadget starts howling, and limping towards the side of the road. She is refusing to use one of her paws, and from the way it was hanging, I'm convinced that it's broken. She's in pain, and lays down in the middle of the road.
I run over to her, concerned with getting her out of the road. I try to lift her - not an insubstantial feet - and she rolls on her back and bites at my arm. I am near tears, but the adrenaline makes me act. I'm concerned that she has broken ribs, and I'm hurting her as I'm trying to lift her. I stand in the road, indecisive, for a few seconds, until I hear another car in the distance.
"CAN SOMEBODY HELP ME?!" I shriek. The four men sitting on the corner drinking Medalla (our local beer) peer at me with mild interest. Finally, a woman jumps out of the car that hit Gadget and comes to my aid. "CATCH MY DOG!" I scream - Evie is still running around the road, and now I can see the other car coming. Jesus Christ, I have one injured dog, I don't know how I can handle two. She manages to capture Evie, and I get Gadget to the side of the road. The stranger sits with Evie on her lap, and I ask her to hold Gadget's collar. "I'll be right back!" I call. "I'm going to get my car!"
Down the road I sprint - over four speed bumps in 2" wedges. The distance is shorter than a short block in NYC, so I'm at my trailer almost instantly. I wrench the gate open, slam the key in the ignition, gun the engine, and squeal my way back to the intersection. The stranger from the car gets Evie in the back seat, and I coax Gadget in. I drive immediately to the Humane Society, the only veterinary clinic on the island. There's actually only a vet on island Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, but this is one of those days so I pray help will be there.
I arrive at the humane society, leave both dogs in the car, run in absolutely disheveled, and shriek, "I have a dog that was hit by a car!" Bring her in, they say. I go out to the car to get her - and now Gadget has decided she is not coming out. She has shit in my backseat (though luckily on a raincoat, which I can hose off when I get home), and is in no mood to be handled by anybody. She is walking back and forth between the front passenger seat and the backseat - but at least she's walking! She's using all four paws. I almost collapse with relief.
I get the ladies from the Humane Society to help me, and with the use of a muzzle and a blanket we get Gadget out of the car. They take her inside, and poke and prod. The vet has gone home for the day, but they're not terribly concerned - it doesn't seem like anything is broken, and she's not bleeding anywhere. I, however, am - the shelter manager points to a deep gash on my wrist that has left blood trickling down my arm. It must have happened when I was trying to get Gadget out of the road. The adrenaline was so strong, I didn't even feel it. They give the dog a shot for the pain, and two pain pills for later, and send me on my way.
Now I have to call the owner.
I cannot think of a more difficult phone call that I've had to make. "Hi, friend. Remember the dog, your baby, your child, who you entrusted to me for care? Well, she got out of my yard, and was hit by a car." I have never felt so guilty or incapable in my life. What a stroke of luck that my friend had decided not to spend the night in Puerto Rico - by the time I get ahold of her, she is already back on island. When my friend gets to my house, Gadget is obviously in distress, but also obviously going to be fine. At that point I completely break down, sobbing my heart out on the shoulder of the friend who I betrayed. Although she keeps assuring me it wasn't my fault, and she was glad it happened with me and no one else, I can't shake the feeling of guilt. I have watched Evie break out of my porch before, so I knew it was a possibility. I was lazy, and incautious. If I had taken the extra step and put them in the house, it would not have happened. It's my fault, and no one else's.
I see my friend the next afternoon at work. She has taken Gadget to be seen by the vet, who couldn't believe she was hit by a car less than 24 hours earlier. Everything is going to be fine. Two weeks later, the wound on my wrist has healed, but I still have a scar. I almost hope the scar will stay, as a reminder of an instance where I knew better.
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