Be sure to read about my trip to Madison, WI in the next entry, but in here I will share with you my traumatic event this weekend. If the title doesn't already reveal it....
Joan and I went to the dog park on Friday afternoon. Joan thought it would be a great way to start the weekend, though it was a bit cool. We walked through the park on the interior trails, first. We were behind a group that had three dogs - one of which looked like a pit-bull mix and its owner kept calling it back when it got near me. Joan was not pleased because you shouldn't bring dogs that are bad to the park - though it hadn't YET done anything bad. So she veered off and we went through some other trails and I got to this one spot and sat down in a pool of mud and muddy water. Joan said, "Booosco!" But she knew that on the return trip, we'd go along the river and I'd wash myself off and get the smelly mud off of me.
We kept going, and I ran like a maniac as usual. Jumping over trees, through the mud, to the water, and back. We were near the end of the park and I was running through a mud field that is usually not mud. (the water is kind of high). Joan turned to look at me, particularly because I was running through the mud. And then it happened. I was jumping over a log and collided with a branch that was sticking up from it. I fell down on my side and rolled over and was yelping over and over and I wouldn't put my right front leg down. Joan just kept saying, "Oh, bosco, bosco" and she started to get really upset. She thought I broke my leg. Then three dogs heard me yelping and they appeared from nowhere to see if I was okay. Since Joan thought I broke my leg, she went to pick me up, but I squirmed and she put me back down (she was also wondering how she was going to carry me all the way back to the car.) Then she was all muddy!!!
After about a minute, I stopped yelping but I was really hurt. A woman came along and Joan told her what happened. Her dog was one of the dogs that ran over. She said she thought it was a dog fight by how much I was yelping and crying. Joan looked at the branch that was sticking up, and sure enough there was my fur on it!
At this point, I was putting my leg down but limping. We started to walk back to the car. I just walked right next to Joan and limped the whole way. The woman asked if this was my usual self. Ha ha! No! I would never walk this slowly. We went to the river and rinsed off a bit (Joan didn't - she was still muddy all over).
We got home and I just was really sore. Joan was very concerned. I just laid down on my bed and didn't go anywhere. Even when Joan went out the back door, I did not get up. So Joan spent the night petting me pretty much. She did go to bed upstairs.
On Saturday, I went up to her bedroom, albeit slowly. Joan thought this was a good sign, and then I wasn't limping as bad but still somewhat. We walked over to the vet (1 block) and asked them about it. I have an appt on Tuesday, if it looks like I need it then. But I am getting better. Joan saw a red spot under my leg under my fur, and keeps trying to look at it, but I don't like her touching me there and push her hand away. Why does she always need to assess everything like my injuries?
I've been taking it easy - mostly because Joan is making me. The vet assistant said dogs, especially labradors, will ignore their injuries in favor of chasing squirrels etc. So Joan is only taking me on short walks and making me rest. But I'm getting better.
PS - It is May 1 and it is snowing here. This is a strange place, indeed!