Saturday, April 17, 2010

On Dogs

Now I've been a little afraid of dogs for as long as I can remember. I think it stems from this little yipper dog my grandma's friend used to own. The memory is very vague I couldn't have been much older then three and I remember that dog barking at me and biting me every time it was over, I don't remember it hurting but I remember it biting. When I was about eight I got bit on the butt by a doberman pincher and it drew blood. So me and dogs have not been the best of friends(I have gotten over this fear and own two big dogs myself now).

So dog story number one. We were toned out to back pain close to quarters right at dusk. When we got on scene it was pretty dark. The patient was located in the daylight basement on a mattress on the floor. I knew the patient and she was in obvious pain, sweating, laying flat, high blood pressure and pulse, all the things that tip us off to this ones not just trying to get drugs. Plus I knew her and she wasn't the type. So I decided to get an IV and give her some morphine before we moved her, for her comfort. I got down on my knees at the patients level and started setting up for my IV and talking to the patient. While I was doing this the lieutenant was looking for an easier way out then the switch-back stairway. I heard a bark and then the Lt said "OH S---!!"

So I looked around and didn't see anything alarming, the Lt was out of sight around a corner and had opened a door to the back yard. I didn't see any dogs so I figured he had just shut the door. I got my line in and started some morphine and then noticed that all the responders were up against the far wall, looking at me. No warning. That's when I noticed the hot breath on my neck. I slowly turned my head and found myself, literally nose to nose with a huge rottweiler. The patient started assuring us that the dog was nice and would not bite, however, I was not convinced. Seriously, there was six strangers in this dog's house and they were surrounding this dog's mama who's laying down moaning with pain. If that's not a recipe for getting eaten I don't know what is.

I calmly and nonchalantly attempted to befriend the dog, looking like a hero to the other responders...ok, really I said "nice dog" and it came out as a squeak. And then I heard this deep, baritone, rumble emanating from the dogs chest, and my stomach flipped over and threatened to upend my dinner. I found myself wondering what I'd look like if I survived getting my face torn off, while trying to precordial thump myself to restart my heart.

About that time I was saved. Saved by an eleven year old girl who walked in and saw the dog growling 1 inch from my nose. She grabbed the dog by the collar and berated his behavior while dragging him back to the yard without even a little fear. He gave me the stink-eye until he was around the corner.

I said the only thing that came to mind. Calmly I looked back to the patient laying on the bed and said, "Wow, what are you feeding him, his breath was awful!"

The guys thought it was hilarious that I was "saved" by an eleven year old girl and that she made me look like somewhat of a sissy. I heard about that for sometime. Interestingly enough those same guys were up against the wall from the time the dog walked in the door until it was dragged out.

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