“There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle or you can live as if everything is a miracle.” Albert Einstein
|Roxy Doxy enjoying her Easter outfit 2010|
Sometimes I overuse sarcasm and hyperbole in my storytelling for dramatic and humorous effect. It’s fun to get your goat, and you fellow chicken-wingers, are kind to follow along.
Today, I relate to you a dog-story as truthfully as I can. What really happened?? You tell me.
|Practicing water safety at the Lake last summer|
Last evening, as I was returning from church, I pulled into the big circle driveway. All the outside lights were on. It seemed odd because the Texan is
cheap economical and he preaches turning off unnecessary lights. I entered the house through the sliding door from the garage to the utility room. I immediately experienced a sensation of something not being ‘right’.
|Enjoying Veteran’s Day from her ‘watchdog perch’|
Usually, the wiener dog sees me from her watchdog perch in the window, and she scampers to greet me. Ambled through the back of the house to the living room….no Doxy and where is the Texan? As I make my way back toward our bedroom, I see the stubby dog walk to me (kind of hesitantly, like she’s in trouble) and she does her usual ‘I’m sitting up…please pick me up!’ and I gladly oblige. She smells strange. What is it? She is reeking of burnt rubber, asphalt and dead animal.
The Texan appears from his shower and tells me, ‘The Doxy got run over by a truck!’ He is clearly shaken, and I request he repeat it for me. ‘The Doxy got run over!’
‘How is this possible, as I am holding the wiener and she is alive?’ Smelly, shaken…but alive.
He explains, voice cracking, that the watchdog wiener spied a cat from her perch in the window. I’ll not go into all the gory details, but suffice it to say the dog got out…chased the cat into the busy street in front of our house and he thought he saw a truck run over her. In his horror, he ran into the street and scooped her up from the asphalt. He reported she was stiff….eyes open, but unresponsive. She was not responding to his voice. He laid her on our bed while he called the vet. As he observed her, she seemed to be getting less stiff and more alert so he told the vet he was going to watch her. He jotted down the 24 hour emergency animal hospital number.
She was getting better even though there appeared to be a little blood mixed with urine/or saliva? on the sheet. Was she bleeding anywhere?…he couldn’t see anything. Was anything broken or any leg poking the wrong direction? No. She continued to improve until I came home and she walked up to me.
|Ringing in 2011|
After the Texan finished, I laid in a fetal position on the floor for a minute. You see, we adore this ridiculous rock-fetching wiener. She has been the child in our empty nest. Since we both lost our Mothers in the last couple of months, we are feeling kind of…..raw. Some of the planets in our universe are extinguished and we feel a little wobbly on our axis. Neither of us wants to live in our universe without the little dachshund planet. Not now.
|Roxy Doxy loves America|
I put Doxy in bed with me (like usual) and laid awake waiting for her to convulse and die. She did not. We just got checked out by the vet. The nice veteranarian asked that I work on better restraining my dog and she gave me some light pain meds for soreness. She found nothing amiss.
|This little dog keeps me engaged politically|
I’m spending most of this day hugging and kissing the wiener dog. Can’t help myself. Grateful for the comfort of my sausage dog during this wobbly time. The Texan? Safe to say he feels the same. I’ll probably love and slobber on him when he gets home from work. Poor Texan.
What really happened? Was she hit, or not?
Me?….I’m treating it as a miracle. An Easter Doxy resurrection! Strike up the Hallelujah Chorus! I am over the moon for a small, smelly sausage-y miracle.
Hope you recognize your miracle today. Hal-la-LOO-ya love to all.