Tuesday

I woke up this morning very early. There was no sunlight in the sky. I looked over at my clock to see it was almost four thirty. I rolled over and drifted between wakefullness and sleep. I finally lifted my head again to see it was after six thirty. Late. I hurriedly fled my room, showered, changed, made sure Gary was awake and gathered my things. I had one job left to do. Feed the animals. I went outside, still hurrying, pourd out dog food, and cat food in their respective places. Then I noticed my dog, Flash. He rolled over like always wanting a morning belly rub. His tail was wagging. It was still dark outside. I reached over to pet him, when I felt something warm and soft. With the light of my cell phone, I was grossed out. Flash has been hurt again. Again, and again and again. This poor dog can't stay out of trouble. He's been attacked by what I assume is a coon.
I thought I was going to be late this morning, I was now. I brought him in and taped up the gapping hole in his leg the best I could. I knew from his lack of movement and such that he was in a lot of pain. It looked like it would be to. As much gore as I've seen living on a farm, you'd think I could handle this. As I taped him close, I got light headed and queasy. I called mom and she said to see if Steve (my neighbor & sister's father-in-law) could take him. Luckily Steve was awake and agreed to take him. The worst part was having to leave the poor guy.
I sit here at work, just finishing the flood of orders from our main buyer, and my phone rang. It was mom. The first thing out of her mouth was the enormous price the vet is charging. It's only a few hundred shy of what the 3 nights stay & lung surgery and such was in Louisville. Mom told me that she told them to go ahead with it. Flash somehow managed to get metal chips in the wound. We can only guess that while he was fighting the coon, he must've hit something down in the barn - like the round bailer or a sheet of tin or something like that. He has to be in a splint and they are going to do x-rays to see if he has any broken bones. With the muscle torn like it is, there maybe a chance he'll never be able to walk on that leg again. He just turned a year old in Feb. My mom suggested that my brother needs to go coon hunting. Even more so now, that dad moved Daisy May and her six snow white beagle pups down there.
Life is never daul on the farm.