Monday, December 5, 2011

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall

Last night was a humdinger.  The youngest daughter and I took Ollie out for a potty break after he ate his supper.  In typical puppy ADHD fashion, he kept getting distracted by the holly bush and running right to it.  The problem was that there's a big mud puddle all around it, so the youngest daughter kept carting him out of the puddle.  On about the fourth puddle rescue mission, when we were ready to head back inside, the youngest daughter was hauling the beast out yet again when he nipped her on the hand.  He's just 10 weeks old so it's not as if she lost a hunk of flesh.  However, this daughter suffers nothing in silence or with great fortitude, so she squealed and promptly let him go, whereupon he fell several feet down to the concrete pavers of the driveway and landed with a splat.

He immediately emitted this horrible puppy scream and started spinning around in a tight circle.  I catch Ollie and pick him up.  He stops the horrible I'm-about-to-die hollering but is shaking like a leaf.  The youngest daughter and I head towards the house when the older daughter comes outside to see if we've killed the pup.  Not yet, I tell her.  I'm definitely NOT the person you want to call in a crisis because I'm too busy falling apart.  Seriously - I can't even handle a splinter.  The girls like to poke fun at me by coming up with a hand extended and telling me they think they have a splinter.  It just gives me the willies and makes me feel ill.  

So in true Carrie freak out fashion, I had the girls go get my husband.  Hallellujah - he comes downstairs and commandeers the pup situation.  I was convinced Ollie had broken his spine until my husband had him walk a bit.  Then I was sure that Ollie had a concussion because he fell asleep in the blink of an eye.  When he continued breathing, I gently poked Ollie's sides because I imagined he had some sort of internal bleeding.  

He slept for a bit in my husband's lap while I fretted.  My husband put Ollie in his doggie room (the converted garage) where he got a drink of water and gingerly crawled into his crate.  By then I was just a basket case.  I assumed I would get no sleep with visions of thousand pound emergency vet bills or brain damaged/crippled pups running through my head.  Drastic times calling for drastic measures equaled two over the counter sleeping pills for me.

I woke up this morning and crept downstairs to find a cold, stiff body perky Ollie reared up on the baby gate waiting for me to cart him over so he could take his morning potty stroll.  He seems none the worse for wear, thank goodness.  The new house rule is that the youngest daughter can no longer carry Ollie unless I get some sort of doggie life insurance coverage for him.

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