Stay with us, Dodger

Last night before zipping across town for dinner with L., Pooka and I walked over the ridge to our local dog run -- dusty in summertime, it turns out, after months of mud wrestling. It was a small crowd, but Betty, a black malamute-shepherd-somethingorother showed up shortly after we did, and she and Pooka bared teeth and played bite-face rough and tumble for a bit as per usual.

A man walked in with two soft, shiny Brittany spaniel siblings, nearly a year old. Pooka romped a bit with them -- Abby and Dodger -- then back to dinosaur madness with Betty. I chatted with the spaniels' dad for a few moments, then noticed that Dodger appeared to be trying to cough to clear his throat, or throw up a little something. Pooka does this when she has gotten some dirt or icky bark in her mouth, or tries to swallow grass in a hurry, so I wasn't so concerned.

But then, the poor thing let loose a few little spurts of very watery poo, and before our eyes grew weak and collapsed, eyes closing, rolling back.

Their father B. was shocked, frozen. He and tried to shake/revive the pup, who faded in and out for a minute or two. I asked if he drove, then told him I'd grab the other dog if he'd pick up Dodge, and help him get to the car and ultimately the vet. On our way out, Betty's mom reminded us of the 24-hour pet emergency room nearby.

When B. put Dodger in the back of his little SUV, he didn't want to leave him. I stood there, awkwardly, asking if he had his cell phone (yes), if he had the vet's number (no), if he wanted me to come along. At first he said no, but when it was clear that he was overwhelmed, I offered again to hold the dog while we drove to the ER. The second time he said yes, so I tossed Pooka in the back of his car with Abby (who promptly jumped the seat, but Pooka was perfect and calm), climbed into his passenger seat and took on the task of keeping sweet, soft little Dodge awake.

His eyes were open, mostly, but he wasn't moving. When he seemed set to fade out, I took a page from Jenny's book and blew in his nose, knowing that many dogs hate it. It seemed to do the trick to get the little boy focused and alert.

When we got to the hospital, B. took Dodger and rushed him in, and I followed with Abby and Pooks, who continued to behave as if everything were normal. As I walked in, a nurse was taking Dodger upstairs, and B. was filling out forms. Once he was settled, I handed him Abby's leash, turned down his offer to drive me back up toward the park and said farewell, shaking off his kind "I owe you" comments. God knows if I were in the same situation, I'd want some help. And honestly, the feeling of taking charge and doing something about this sad, stressful situation made me feel good, energized, whole.

I was going to be late for dinner. Pooka and I half-ran, half-walked home from essentiallly Fremont to Hazard Flats, I called L. to warn of my tardiness, and hopped in the car. But I couldn't stop thinking about this sweet, soft little boy I completely fell in love with while holding him on my lap. After dinner and a stop at J.'s for a nice chat, I headed home on a route that would take me close to the hospital. I knocked on the door and the same nurse came out, and was, despite my fears, perfectly OK telling me that little Dodger was on IV fluids, resting comfortably and staying the night. She didn't know what was wrong yet. Test results weren't in.

I hope she tells B. I stopped by. I hope I see them in the neighborhood again soon. I wonder if I'm in the wrong profession, because I want to feel like that more often. I am terrified, though not practically so, that Pooka will some day collapse out of the blue. Mortality.