Atticus is not doing well tonight.
This afternoon while walking in the Ferncroft Road area of Wonalancet, where many trails spill into the woods, Atticus was savagely attacked by another dog. The dog was sitting in front of a farmhouse and just charged Atti for no apparent reason.
Because Atticus is not a fighter and has a difficult time believing any dog is aggressive, he thought the dog was playing. Within seconds the dog – it looked like a blonde Australian Cattle Dog – went for Atticus' throat in a kill move and was tearing into his neck, shaking him like a rag doll. The vicious snarls of the attacking dog and the Atticus' horrific yelps are still echoing in my ears. By the time I reacted I feared Atticus might already be dead. I kicked the dog and it released Atti. Atti then slumped to the ground and then limped back down the road in the direction we'd come from. When I reached Atticus the back of his neck was tender. I found blood on the front of his neck. When I lifted his head up there was a silver dollar sized hole in Atticus' throat.
I took off my shirt and wrapped it around his neck. The closest vet was gone for the weekend so we went to North Conway, more than 20 miles away and were slowed by the weekend traffic.
I was with Atticus when they gave him a shot – general anesthesia – and stayed with him in surgery. The vet, a young woman who went to Tufts, did a great job and completely understood when I stayed with Atti the entire time. She found other puncture holes in Atticus' neck, cleaned them and sewed some of them close. She also inserted a drainage tube. The attacking dog had shaken him so fiercely it loosened the layers of skin around the bite holes and these 'sacks' of loose flesh were already pooling nasty fluids filled with bacteria.
Dr. Christine O'Connell felt Atticus was perhaps another shake or two or the slkightest tooth angle from death and as bad as everything is she told me we were very lucky.
Atti is currently sleeping on my lap, heavily sedated. I have to check on him every 90 minutes or so tonight to see if problems develop. I'm told to look for signs of a pneumothorax and/or a collapsed lung. Dr. O'Connell told me the signs would appear within 12 to 24 hours. If he is breathing heavily during the night, or if his gums go blue or if his upper back feels like bubble wrap – all signs that air is not getting to his lungs – I'll rush him back to the hospital (the vet is on call 24 hours a day) and an air tube will be inserted into his chest. If anything that serious happens, Atticus will be stabilized and I'll get him into Angell Animal Medical Center.
He's sleeping soundly now, what with the shots for pain and anesthesia and waking him back up and he's also on three different medications.
I'm good in emergency situations and handle myself well. However, when everything levels out and I start to come back down off my emergency high, I begin to fall to pieces. I would make a horrible parent. I cannot imagine how I would handle a son or a daughter being injured, sick or attacked. As it is, I'm a mix of emotions right now. My most base emotion is held in check, but I'll admit to the hatred that has surfaced for that dog and the people who allow it to go without a leash. I also wonder what I could have done differently as the attack plays in my mind in slow motion again and again.
Of course I feel as if I've let my little friend down. I'm usually good at seeing such things developing and I often warn him "not all dogs are friendly". But this afternoon it all happened so rapidly I really couldn't have done anything differently. As for "not all dogs are friendly" – one of the reasons Atticus is a much better soul than I am is because he refuses to see the bad sad in other animals (whereas I'm ready to see the bad in most people).
But this is not about me. It's about a little dog who has been attacked and is in great pain. He has a tube through the front of his throat and a blood stained chest. It's hard to see him this way. When he comes around I'm not sure how this gentle creature will process the attack.
I mean, come on, this little dog has climbed more than 400 mountains in the last three and a half years and never been injured on the trail. Yes, he had the problem with the cataracts and suspected hyperthyroidism but to be brutally attacked and injured this way, well, it's just something that's hard to comprehend and sickening.
The vet told me since moving to New Hampshire she's seen many of these wounds where bigger, aggressive dogs go for the kill against smaller dogs.
Maybe we are lucky, but it just doesn't feel like it right now.
I'm off to sleep in 90 minute segments.
This afternoon while walking in the Ferncroft Road area of Wonalancet, where many trails spill into the woods, Atticus was savagely attacked by another dog. The dog was sitting in front of a farmhouse and just charged Atti for no apparent reason.
Because Atticus is not a fighter and has a difficult time believing any dog is aggressive, he thought the dog was playing. Within seconds the dog – it looked like a blonde Australian Cattle Dog – went for Atticus' throat in a kill move and was tearing into his neck, shaking him like a rag doll. The vicious snarls of the attacking dog and the Atticus' horrific yelps are still echoing in my ears. By the time I reacted I feared Atticus might already be dead. I kicked the dog and it released Atti. Atti then slumped to the ground and then limped back down the road in the direction we'd come from. When I reached Atticus the back of his neck was tender. I found blood on the front of his neck. When I lifted his head up there was a silver dollar sized hole in Atticus' throat.
I took off my shirt and wrapped it around his neck. The closest vet was gone for the weekend so we went to North Conway, more than 20 miles away and were slowed by the weekend traffic.
I was with Atticus when they gave him a shot – general anesthesia – and stayed with him in surgery. The vet, a young woman who went to Tufts, did a great job and completely understood when I stayed with Atti the entire time. She found other puncture holes in Atticus' neck, cleaned them and sewed some of them close. She also inserted a drainage tube. The attacking dog had shaken him so fiercely it loosened the layers of skin around the bite holes and these 'sacks' of loose flesh were already pooling nasty fluids filled with bacteria.
Dr. Christine O'Connell felt Atticus was perhaps another shake or two or the slkightest tooth angle from death and as bad as everything is she told me we were very lucky.
Atti is currently sleeping on my lap, heavily sedated. I have to check on him every 90 minutes or so tonight to see if problems develop. I'm told to look for signs of a pneumothorax and/or a collapsed lung. Dr. O'Connell told me the signs would appear within 12 to 24 hours. If he is breathing heavily during the night, or if his gums go blue or if his upper back feels like bubble wrap – all signs that air is not getting to his lungs – I'll rush him back to the hospital (the vet is on call 24 hours a day) and an air tube will be inserted into his chest. If anything that serious happens, Atticus will be stabilized and I'll get him into Angell Animal Medical Center.
He's sleeping soundly now, what with the shots for pain and anesthesia and waking him back up and he's also on three different medications.
I'm good in emergency situations and handle myself well. However, when everything levels out and I start to come back down off my emergency high, I begin to fall to pieces. I would make a horrible parent. I cannot imagine how I would handle a son or a daughter being injured, sick or attacked. As it is, I'm a mix of emotions right now. My most base emotion is held in check, but I'll admit to the hatred that has surfaced for that dog and the people who allow it to go without a leash. I also wonder what I could have done differently as the attack plays in my mind in slow motion again and again.
Of course I feel as if I've let my little friend down. I'm usually good at seeing such things developing and I often warn him "not all dogs are friendly". But this afternoon it all happened so rapidly I really couldn't have done anything differently. As for "not all dogs are friendly" – one of the reasons Atticus is a much better soul than I am is because he refuses to see the bad sad in other animals (whereas I'm ready to see the bad in most people).
But this is not about me. It's about a little dog who has been attacked and is in great pain. He has a tube through the front of his throat and a blood stained chest. It's hard to see him this way. When he comes around I'm not sure how this gentle creature will process the attack.
I mean, come on, this little dog has climbed more than 400 mountains in the last three and a half years and never been injured on the trail. Yes, he had the problem with the cataracts and suspected hyperthyroidism but to be brutally attacked and injured this way, well, it's just something that's hard to comprehend and sickening.
The vet told me since moving to New Hampshire she's seen many of these wounds where bigger, aggressive dogs go for the kill against smaller dogs.
Maybe we are lucky, but it just doesn't feel like it right now.
I'm off to sleep in 90 minute segments.
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