If this doesn't melt you.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Life of Riley
Jesus, I'd hate to be a dog in this town.
On my way to, of all places, PetSmart to pick up dog food, I stopped and rescued a pitbull/boxer mix staggering down the middle of the road. She had obviously just had puppies and was a skeleton. Seriously. Some very sweet people stopped and helped me get her into the car--one woman actually had a leash and cookies, and lured the dog out of the road. I was pretty impressed that traffic stopped both ways for us to do this, and only one tool honked his horn.
The short version is, I took her to TWO vets on Saturday. Turns out she had life-threatening mastitis and was in excruciating pain. She stayed at the emergency vet overnight, had IV fluids and antibiotics with a nice little morphine cocktail to take the edge off. By Sunday she was wagging her tail and I have placed her in a wonderful home already. She's with a friend of mine and her six year-old son, who insisted on sleeping on the floor with Tanner her first night, and covered them both with a blanket. Pictures WILL be coming, I promise. Her name is Tanner and she is the most loving, special dog. The vet said if I hadn't picked her up she would have been dead already from the mastitis. Tanner was obviously used as a breeder dog for the worst kind of redneck that inhabits this backwater. I'm sure they were counting on selling the puppies at the flea market. The vet also said that he had rarely seen such a horrible case of malnutrition and neglect.
Imagine how I feel about that. I'm trying to remember that Tanner is in a wonderful home now, happy, doted upon, clean, warm and very, very well-fed. I'm trying to remember this when I feel like telling Tanner's former abusers, whoever they are, to go play in the hay baler.
On my way to, of all places, PetSmart to pick up dog food, I stopped and rescued a pitbull/boxer mix staggering down the middle of the road. She had obviously just had puppies and was a skeleton. Seriously. Some very sweet people stopped and helped me get her into the car--one woman actually had a leash and cookies, and lured the dog out of the road. I was pretty impressed that traffic stopped both ways for us to do this, and only one tool honked his horn.
The short version is, I took her to TWO vets on Saturday. Turns out she had life-threatening mastitis and was in excruciating pain. She stayed at the emergency vet overnight, had IV fluids and antibiotics with a nice little morphine cocktail to take the edge off. By Sunday she was wagging her tail and I have placed her in a wonderful home already. She's with a friend of mine and her six year-old son, who insisted on sleeping on the floor with Tanner her first night, and covered them both with a blanket. Pictures WILL be coming, I promise. Her name is Tanner and she is the most loving, special dog. The vet said if I hadn't picked her up she would have been dead already from the mastitis. Tanner was obviously used as a breeder dog for the worst kind of redneck that inhabits this backwater. I'm sure they were counting on selling the puppies at the flea market. The vet also said that he had rarely seen such a horrible case of malnutrition and neglect.
Imagine how I feel about that. I'm trying to remember that Tanner is in a wonderful home now, happy, doted upon, clean, warm and very, very well-fed. I'm trying to remember this when I feel like telling Tanner's former abusers, whoever they are, to go play in the hay baler.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Wonder Light: Chronicles Of The Glass Shop
October 6, 2007, Saturday
Sometimes, as I stand in the shop listening to a man in Pointer brand overalls describe the size plexiglass he needs for the flip-out window on his deer stand, I can feel my IQ pouring out the bottom of my shoe.
Such was the case yesterday, and the conversation was one-sided and long. It was important to have the plexiglass, he told me, cause it gets cold up in that stand at night. He had no exact measurements, just held his hands up and said, "'Bout yea big by yea big."
"Got it," I said.
The shirt he wore was so threadbare I could see his undershirt clean through it. The next to top button was missing and he had an old safety pin in its place. His hair was white as cotton, and the cleanest thing about him. Those overalls hadn't seen the inside of a washer in a long time. He dipped, as so many of them do. But he was oblivious to the trickle of brown tobacco juice running down the corner of his mouth. It had seeped into the finer wrinkles of his face, like water filing a dry creek bed.
Sometimes, as I stand in the shop listening to a man in Pointer brand overalls describe the size plexiglass he needs for the flip-out window on his deer stand, I can feel my IQ pouring out the bottom of my shoe.
Such was the case yesterday, and the conversation was one-sided and long. It was important to have the plexiglass, he told me, cause it gets cold up in that stand at night. He had no exact measurements, just held his hands up and said, "'Bout yea big by yea big."
"Got it," I said.
The shirt he wore was so threadbare I could see his undershirt clean through it. The next to top button was missing and he had an old safety pin in its place. His hair was white as cotton, and the cleanest thing about him. Those overalls hadn't seen the inside of a washer in a long time. He dipped, as so many of them do. But he was oblivious to the trickle of brown tobacco juice running down the corner of his mouth. It had seeped into the finer wrinkles of his face, like water filing a dry creek bed.
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