Sweet Pea

During my mother's extended stay in the hospital recently, I was put in charge of taking care of her animals.  At that time consisted of one dog and one cat.  Everyday before and after work I'd go to her house, which was just down the road from my home.

During the day I'd leave her dog, Scout, a medium sized, mostly white mutt dog, out in the fenced yard.  I use the word mutt as a term of endearment.  Scout is a friendly, rambunctious dog, who, when she was a tiny puppy, somehow made her way to my mother's house--from a neighbor's house more than a block away-- leaving her litter mates behind, hence the name Scout.

On this particular evening I noticed Scout acted more excited than usual to see me.  After the chores were done, I  closed the gate on the small fenced in area, and  turned to walk to my truck.  I stopped walking when  I saw her.  A very dirty, scroungy, long haired, medium sized dog.  It had rained a slow, constant drizzle during the previous couple of days, and this dog looked like she had been unable to find shelter from it.

The dog walked toward me from the direction of my mother's shed.  I stood still and watched her.  She looked pitiful and her large, expressive eyes were staring at me.  She stopped at my feet and then put her front paws up on my thighs.  Her eyes looked at me as if pleading with me to help her.   My heart melted.  She had a collar with a tag, identifying her as Sweet Pea and a phone number.  I went back inside my mother's house and called the number.  There was no answer so I left a message and my home phone number.

I took Sweet Pea home and gave her a quick bath.  Her gratitude was obvious.  After bouncing around the house and rubbing her still wet body down the front of my couch several times, she settled down on the couch and took a nap.  Not long after, I received a phone call from her happy owners.  I met them shortly thereafter,  only a few miles from my home. Sweet Pea nearly knocked me off my feet, as I held her and she saw her owners.

Her owner's informed me that Sweet Pea was a Miniature Schnauzer, who was in need of a haircut.  Also, that she had been missing for two days.  They were very thankful that I had called.  I'll never forget Sweet Pea, who I fell in love the second  I looked into her sweet, pleading eyes.

Snakebite! continued.....

One warm Spring morning I went outside and fed Pistol and Lady as usual.  With Pistol's first bite of  hay  I noticed that he was chewing unusually slow.  He then walked to his shed and stood  parallel up against the back wall.  I followed him, knowing  that something was wrong because he wasn't eating. I quickly looked him over and didn't notice anything to be concerned about.  I then  ran to the house and told my dad, who came out to look.

 

By then Pistol's nose had begun to swell.  Dad pointed out four tiny holes on the soft part of  his nose between his nostrils.  There were trickles of blood coming from them.   Pistol stood still except for occasionally twitching his head as if he was feeling sharp stabs of pain in his nose.  His eyes looked droopy and frightened.

 

As we discussed the dire situation, Tigger, my dad's Papillion dog, alerted to a small bush in the corral.  There hiding in the bush I found a Mohave Green rattlesnake.  I had walked right next to that bush several times that morning.  Dad got his gun and shot the culprit.

 

Two hours later the swelling appeared to have stopped.  Pistol's upper lip was  swollen and hanging about an inch longer than his bottom lip, and the bottom half of his nose was obviously swollen.

 

Pistol, like most horses, is very curious and must have been sniffing and checking out the snake when he was bit.  I mistakenly assumed that after living here for over three years he had already come across rattlesnakes and knew to stay away from them.  

 

Because Pistol's nose seemed to have stopped swelling. I decided it was safe for me to go to work.  Dad had a doctor's appointment in town that day, so I was slightly concerned that he wouldn't be home for a few hours to check on him. 

 

When I got to work my mild concern had grown, so I called my veterinarian.  After telling her the situation, the tone of her voice changed from matter-of-fact to alarming.  "I will leave my office in a few minutes and meet you at your house!"  She got to my house only a few minutes after I arrived.  Pistol's condition was unchanged. 

 

As the vet unloaded supplies from her truck, she shared with me the many stories of horses, donkeys and mules she had treated for rattlesnake bites, a few having not survived.  She then gave Pistol shots of steroids, antibiotics, and tetanus.

 

For several days following the bites, Pistol's  breathing sounded like that of  a kid with a snotty nose.  Until that day, I did not realize that horses can only breath through their nose.   And on that day, I felt totally inadequate as a horse owner.  But, Pistol would be ok and I learned a lesson.  The hard way, as is usually the case.  Pistol also learned a lesson. Although Pistol's lesson was harder learned than mine!  Since then, he can spot a rattlesnake far off the trail and seconds before I hear their rattle and he now gives them a wide berth.