[This was the first story I wrote for Always a Next One. It remains my personal favorite, the only real “tear-jerker” in the collection. Please don’t ask me to read this story aloud, because I can’t. I get emotional when I recall the rollercoaster nature of the experience in my mind. The “voice” of the narrator had to be my wife Lisa, because the story only works if told from her perspective and seen through her eyes.]
If cats have nine lives, how many does a dog have?
Decisions of life and death take their toll on me. It’s not easy to be president of the Humane Society of Forsyth County. I recognized her phone number on the call display. “Lisa, thank God you answered your phone.”
“Hi, Leslie. What’s the matter?”
“I just found a dog that was hit by a car lying on the side of the road. I thought he might already be dead. I only stopped and got out to make sure there was nothing I could do. I really can’t believe he’s still alive. The poor thing … his legs were all twisted and his body is scraped and bloody. Even the skin on his nose is rubbed off. The worst is his head injury. It breaks my heart to see how badly he’s hurt – at first I was sure he was dead. But as I turned back toward my car, I saw his chest move.”
Leslie finally paused to take a breath before plowing forward. “Lisa, he evacuated his bowels. I had some rags in my trunk and cleaned him up as best I could … but he’s dying. Please, can the Humane Society help him? I don’t know where else to take him or what to do.”
Her torrent of words hit me like a hammer. Another good-hearted volunteer with yet another crisis. How could I say no? We operate a small, no-kill rescue shelter. Most of our volunteers will stop to help a live dog running loose on the road, but who stops for a dead dog?
My guess is only the ones who have hearts of gold.
Leslie sounded calm, but her voice cracked with emotion. We both knew bowel evacuation usually portended death. I asked Leslie a couple of questions to help me decide which vet would be closest. “Yes, Leslie. We’ll try to help the dog. Do you know Dr. McGruder at Crestview Animal Hospital? His clinic is closest to you, and they’ll take really good care of him. I’ll call ahead to let them know you’re on your way.”
I prayed the dog would live long enough to reach Crestview. Our Humane Society is a non-profit organization with limited resources. Our sole purpose is to save lives, but which ones? If his injuries are too severe for the dog to recover enough to enjoy life, the humane thing will be to euthanize him. Dr. McGruder is well aware of our limited budget and supports what we do. He’ll give me good advice; know the right thing to do. I can’t stand the idea of any animal suffering needlessly.
I took a deep breath and made the call.
Leslie arrived at the clinic with the dog while I was still on the phone. The receptionist offered to call me back after he had been evaluated.
Within an hour, the receptionist called me back as promised. After we spoke briefly, she put me on hold.
Dr. McGruder came on the line. He seems cantankerous to some people, but I know under his gruff exterior beats a heart of gold.
“His current condition is extremely critical, but stable. We’ve given him pain medication and we’ll be monitoring his condition closely. I had to splint his front paw. It’s too early to tell the extent of any brain damage. He can’t be sedated to operate on the leg because of the risk of permanent damage from the injury to his brain. I’m worried about swelling. We’ll keep him comfortable and monitor his progress. I’ll call you tomorrow and give you an update.”
The dog had miraculously survived transport to the veterinary hospital. We assigned him a number and entered him into our database as an official Humane Society dog. He became D5747 for tracking purposes. Dogs don’t respond to names like D5747. Because no one knew anything about the dog prior to Leslie finding him, I named him Trooper for his perseverance and will to live.
Trooper survived his first night at Crestview.
The following morning Dr. McGruder called as promised. “He’s still alive, but he can’t sit up, eat or control his head.”
My stomach knotted. Dr. McGruder doesn’t mince words. He’s painting a grim picture.
Anticipating the worst, I asked: “What’s your recommendation?”
“It’s still a little too early to tell. Basically, we’re just boarding and monitoring the dog to make sure he doesn’t suffer needless pain. I’m giving him intravenous pain meds in the fluids we’re giving to keep him hydrated. He doesn’t seem to be able to drink water yet. It’s not expensive to board him. We can continue to treat his symptoms. Let’s give it time and see.”
Silently, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was pulling for him, but experience with reality told me not to let my hopes get too high.
And I wasn’t the only one concerned about Trooper’s welfare. Leslie asked for email updates on his condition, and his story spread among our family of volunteers associated with the shelter.
A decision on whether to surgically repair or amputate the leg had to wait until the dog stood a better chance of survival. The next few days depended entirely on Trooper’s will to live.
People pestered me for updates on Trooper’s condition, and the vet’s receptionist was being inundated with phone calls requesting information. I blasted an email to our interested well wishers, promising regular updates if they would stop calling.
Trooper’s new fan club rejoiced at the news the following day when his condition improved slightly. The day after, we all cheered when we learned he could drink water.
One especially sobering concern involved how his head lolled and pitched without warning. If he couldn’t even control the movements of his head, how could this dog ever have quality of life?
As we fretted, slowly but surely, Trooper regained better control of his head. Not long after, he started eating solid food. Eventually, he sat up without help, but only stood with assistance. The staff at Crestview cheered every accomplishment, along with his growing fan club.
Then his steady, almost daily improvement came to a screeching halt. Trooper reached a plateau. And he still couldn’t walk. Days passed. Dr. McGruder grew more and more concerned. The dog had progressed so well, until now. He wondered why the dog couldn’t stand by itself.
To make matters worse, Trooper began to show signs of fear aggression during treatments and examinations. His new behavior raised major concern. He snapped and snarled at Dr. McGruder. I worried the efforts to save Trooper had been in vain, now that the dog demonstrated potential behavioral problems.
Without access to the dog’s history, for all we knew, he could have been feral before the car ran over him. All our efforts might have been wasted.
It was also possible he could have been friendly prior to the brain injury, but the trauma changed his personality. Yet a third possibility existed: the dog might simply still be sore. His therapy could be causing him pain.
Dr. McGruder warned his staff to be careful handling the dog. Gradually, Trooper calmed and his attitude toward people improved. He licked the palm of his handler when the opportunity arose, and the display of affection encouraged all of us.
Meanwhile, Leslie went door-to-door through the neighborhood near where the dog had been injured, searching in vain for his owner. She finally found a homeowner who claimed he saw the dog running loose and put out food for it to eat. However, he said the dog remained skittish and refused to be caught. The neighbor speculated that Trooper’s previous owners dumped him like useless junk near the entrance to the subdivision. There he waited in vain for their return, until the fateful accident.
Leslie blistered my ear telling me what she learned. She made a sincere effort to find Trooper’s owners, and felt certain he had been purposefully abandoned.
Dr. McGruder started to suspect Trooper’s inability to stand might be related to his life prior to the accident. He could have been an outside dog. That would explain his inability to stand on slick indoor tile flooring. He carried Trooper outside.
The terse but wise vet was right. Trooper stood on grass without assistance, even with his leg in a splint. Two more long weeks passed while Trooper gradually improved.
Although he still required additional care, the vet believed recovery in a home environment would be more comfortable. Plus, the dog needed socialization, and it would save our Humane Society precious funds that could be used to help other animals.
As a precautionary measure, I decided Trooper should temporarily come into my home for further evaluation of potential behavioral challenges.
Finally Trooper left the hospital go home—my home. My husband has experience working with dog behavioral issues and he agreed to evaluate Trooper.
The rest of his recovery would be up to him.
When my husband, John, first met Trooper at Crestview, the frightened dog barked at him continuously. John calmly sat on the floor, refraining from eye contact with the dog. That allowed Trooper to become comfortable in his presence. After some time, Trooper inched close enough to gently sniff John’s head. When Dr. McGruder joined them, the dog jumped to his side and clung to his leg like a small child.
Dr. McGruder frowned. “It may be best to have a veterinary technician the dog trusts help you get him into your car.”
As he drove home, John wondered how he would get the dog with a questionable reputation out of his car without being bitten. He called me to discuss the problem. “I had help getting the dog into the car, but I hadn’t thought of making a plan for getting him out of car.” John chuckled. “I guess I don’t need to worry about the dog running away. With his splinted leg slowing him down, I can outrun him if he tries to escape.”
Any worries about receiving a serious bite from the little dog vanished on the way home. About halfway there, the dog inched close enough to rest his muzzle on John’s elbow perched on the arm rest.
John called me back to report the latest development. “I seriously doubt Trooper is going to be a problem.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s a little love bug. He’s snuggling with me.”
Trooper acclimated and relaxed in his new environment. He demonstrated a strong desire for affection. John believed the dog had never been wild or feral, just neglected and underappreciated. The dog was so adorable and his story heart-rending, we both felt confident Trooper would attract a lot of interest when ready and well enough to attend adoption events.
During the long weekend spent with John and our dog pack, Trooper showed zero aggression for food, people, or other dogs. His scars only made him more interesting. He house-trained easily, never once having an “accident” indoors.
I passed the good news along the volunteer grapevine — Trooper received great reviews on his evaluation! A collective sigh of relief could be heard throughout Forsyth County.
After a long weekend of behavior evaluation, I look Trooper back to Crestview to have his injured leg re-evaluated. After his examination, we drove to meet someone very special. I let Trooper out of my van. His first steps gravitated toward the strange house, but tentatively. Leslie came outside to greet us. She took one look at Trooper and melted, saying, “Oh, Trooper!”
The emotion in her voice drew him. He hobbled to her side, tail wagging furiously, giving his best effort to leap for joy. Though he’d never gained consciousness the night she rescued him, he seemed to recognize her voice. Tears welled in Leslie’s eyes at the sight of how well Trooper’s recovery had progressed. I felt really good about having committed Humane Society resources to help save this dog.
With a bittersweet passing of the baton, I left the heroic little dog with Leslie. She asked to be his foster and earned the right as the one who picked his broken body off the street. As I drove away, I couldn’t help but wonder if Trooper had already found his forever home. Only time would tell.
So, how many lives does a dog have? If he could answer, Trooper would surely say at least two. The best was saved for last.
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