Monday morning, after feeding the horses, I was bringing the dogs home. As I got out of the truck to shut the gate, Dax leaped out to chase a squirrel. Par for the course. Over the roar of the diesel truck, I heard a sharp yelp, then a series of blood curdling screams. Peter jumped out the truck and pointed me in the right direction.
Dax had managed to give himself a 10" long laceration.
Dr. Brown, who was expected later in the morning to work on the horses, detoured from wherever she was, and made it out in 20 minutes. Alone on the farm, I struggled to keep him quiet and from biting at himself. Our pool man stopped by and helped until the vet arrived. Quick assessment made that this was a clinic surgery emergency and Dax was sedated enough for the drive.
Dr. Carattini was advised and he prepped for surgery.
No time wasted, Dax was under within minutes of arriving.
Bad news, he'd tried to deglove himself and a large patch of skin couldn't be saved. I watched as Dr. Harris prepared to cut 3/4 of his trademark brown patch off and toss it in with the biohazard.
Speechless at this point.
Watching the good doctors work.
Spools of sutures used.
All hemmed up plus drainage tracts.
Considering a new nickname: Quarterpatch.
Coming out of anesthesia.
The ride home. Spared him the 90 mph with flashers on that we did on the way in.
Once home, I had to find what had ripped him open. I scoured the trees in my yard for possible spurs, checked the fencerows, then discovered hair on my camper's hitch. Dax agrees, this is it. Ants are even busy carting off some of the flesh.
The suggestion had been to crate him to prevent jumping up on things. I preferred to drag a mattress into my tool room.
3 chickens started in the stock pot. Settling in for a long 10 days, with daily sedatives, of course.
I slept on the floor with him and he seemed to be feeling better.
Hang in there Little Buddy.
