THE BUD SAGA - PART 11

Another beautiful day! I’ve been trying to keep my mind on the work I have to do, and I’m not having much success. My eyes keep straying to the window. From sticking my head outside when opening the door for the doggies, I know for a fact that it isn’t even cold. A great day for a walk, ski, drive – anything to do as long as it’s not inside. I am also aware that the work I brought home has to be finished…damn!

For some reason, I can’t comment on Google blogs. It’s been happening for a few days now, and I have had no answer from Google support. I guess the keepers of the site studied at the same school as our government officials – they only answer if they think you owe them money. I’m not sure if this problem is just from my home computer…it works sometimes, other times it doesn’t. Nothing can frustrate me more than things that won’t function as they should, especially if it has anything to do with computers. Because I am such an electronic whiz (NOT!!), I realize my hands are tied. I have to depend on others to resolve the problem. Bah. Humbug!

My duties wait, so I’ll get on with the Bud Saga. At least I can still cut & paste!

YOU WANT ME TO BABY-SIT WHAT??? – the fight

The dogs and I were outside on Saturday morning when a car drove into the lane. It was my comrade, stopping to see how I was faring with the cage. The dogs rushed forward barking, with Bud, still intense, nipping and jumping on the labs, striving to bully his way ahead. Beef, normally passive, suddenly turned to retaliate, and the fight was on. Although Beef was much larger, the pit did not back down.

Anyone who has ever heard or seen a dogfight knows how horrific it is. Heart pounding, I ran into the house and grabbed the water pails, then came racing out to douse them, one pail after the other. Startled, they hesitated just long enough for my comrade to grab and hang onto Beef’s collar, and I leapt to take hold of the pit’s choker. He ducked back, and I missed but, thankfully, he did move away.

Keeping them apart, we assessed the damage. There was blood everywhere! Beef was cut on his face, his shoulder and chest. Only his thick fur had kept it from being too serious. Bud, on the other hand, was limping, lifting one of his front legs, yelping in pain. He shied away when we approached him, so neither of us dared to inspect it thoroughly. I kept an attentive eye on him for the next hour. The bleeding had stopped, and he looked okay, just slightly favouring his leg, so a visit to the vet didn’t seem warranted.

I was attending a party in the city that night. Even though the pit was abnormally quiet after the fight and the day outdoors, I opted against leaving him loose. The Cheeto’s trick got him into the cage, though I noted that this time he looked up to watch me leave before he had finished eating the treat.

It was great to be with my friends again, and for a couple of hours I caught up on their doings and, in turn, told them some ‘Bud’ stories. Yet, as much as I had been anticipating this outing, I found I wasn’t really into it. I was worried about the dogs. I felt especially guilty about shutting the pit in the cage again. The necessity of having to go to work was a valid reason; the luxury of social ventures didn’t appear so acceptable. When the feeling got too onerous, I said my goodbyes and headed back to the bush.

There was no traffic, but the drive had never seemed so long. Finally I was in the lane. I hurried to open the door and the labs greeted me fondly. Bud watched as I unlatched the cage, but there was no leap out this time. He was limping badly, whining whenever his wounded foot touched the floor. On his second attempt, he managed to crawl up onto the couch, and lay there motionless. I hadn’t yet removed my coat and the gloves, so decided to risk taking a closer look at his paw. He didn’t resist as I peered over him for a better view. Damn! It had swollen to nearly double its size. It was too late for the vet that night, but first thing in the morning I would have to get him attention. In the meantime…I’m not good with pain myself, so I took two extra-strong aspirin from the medicine cabinet, wrapped them in cheese, and carefully placed it on the couch in front of the pit's nose. When he ate it I felt a sense of relief. That should kill some of the pain for a few hours, fellow.

It took forty minutes, nearly half of the Cheeto’s bag, and a little shove on the rump to coax the pit into the back seat of my car the next morning. He was quiet during the drive to the vet’s office. I parked as close as I could to the entrance, then went for help. One of the group came out and carried Bud inside, deposited him on a stainless steel table in a small room, then left, telling me someone would be with us shortly. I studied the pit. He was looking around with curiosity, but drooling copiously and panting loudly between whimpers. When the female vet walked into the room, he attempted to stand up on the table. I shook my head to her query about his being wicked, (I wasn’t sure about that, but cowardly figured she might leave again if I said so) and she put her hand on his back to hold him down, crooning to him softly.

“A beautiful specimen of the pit-bull breed," she told me as she inspected his paw. I guess my “yeh” wasn’t too enthusiastic, because she looked at me, speculation in her eyes before asking, “What happened?”

I explained about the fight as she continued her examination. “We’ll need x-rays.”

When she signalled that I join her again in the room, Bud was sporting a huge band-aid wrapped around his paw and front leg, and a cone surrounding his neck to keep him from tearing it off. The darned mutt seemed to have completely bounced back...highly alert and no longer whining.

“I’ll give you a prescription for antibiotics,” the vet told me. “You’ll have to keep him quiet for a few days, then come back so we can see him.”

Quiet? Bud?

“You can pick up the medication at the counter,” she continued.

“Prozac?” I joked.

“Prozac?” she frowned. “For the dog?” She wasn’t amused. Or maybe my tone had sounded too hopeful.

“We could share.” I gave it another attempt. “Me and the pit.” The vet pursed her lips in disapproval.

“Before getting a pit-bull, potential owners should realize that they are very high-energy dogs. It’s not fair to the animal if the owner is not prepared to deal with that.” she stated.

“I’m not the owner. I’m just babysitting ‘till the owner gets back...and THAT better happen soon!"

She raised an eyebrow. It was clear that she didn’t think my babysitting up to par. Miffed by her censure, I snapped the leash onto Bud’s collar and followed her to the reception counter. She was still standing beside me writing on a chart as I made arrangements for payment through my friend’s bill. Then on a whim...”How much to get a dog put down by euthanasia?” I asked the receptionist.

“It depends on the weight, “she answered. I could feel the vet watching me as I looked down at the pit with deliberate contemplation.

“Eighty pounds or so.” And how’s that grab ya, Miss high and mighty?

When she heard the vet gasp, the receptionist hesitated. “Never mind, I’ll get back to you on that,” I said, and gave them both a cheery wave as I went out the door, pulling Bud along beside me. He was moving pretty fast too, considering it was only on three legs.

We were nearly back to the house when the stink wafted up to the front seat. “Oh, no! You didn’t!” Trying to watch where I was going as I twisted around to look in the back was no easy feat. He had!

Swearing, I pulled over to the side of the road. I had been astute enough to cover the back seat with a blanket, and was relieved to see that his pooh had not touched the seat itself. Grabbing tissue from my emergency box beside the console, I yelled at him to stay back, then reached out to pluck up the mess before throwing it outside. He watched me with the same Bud eyes. The smelly business done, I started driving again.

“You little Sh*t!” I grumbled. “I’ll be so glad to be rid of you! In fact, if I never see you ever again, it’ll suit me just fine!”

Ah – but fickle fate was going to make me eat those words. Because of our delay, I had missed the telephone call that was to change both our lives forever.

(To be cont’d)

It’s a bit of a cop-out, isn’t it? My blogs seem longer than ever, but I’m writing less just by sticking Bud’s story in here. Still, reading it back over is bringing back many, many memories. As you can tell if you read it, not all of those were good ones!

I really hope you are having my weather, and that you are out there enjoying it. It would be nice to know that someone is, even if I can’t!

Happy Valentine’s Day to y’all!! Sending you a big, heart-shaped SMILE!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.