Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts
By Alyce Wilson
My sister's dog is now officially a cat, and she's used up one of her nine lives.
It was a nightmare scenario: Emma, my sister's dog, was playing with my brother's dog, Pulsar, in his yard in Vermont.
But seeing another dog across the street, Emma ran over to investigate.
My sister called her, and Emma was running back across the street when a large pickup truck came out of nowhere. Fortunately, the driver swerved and didn't actually run her over. Although the truck did hit her, it hit her at an angle, striking her leg.
Acting quickly, my sister and brother whisked Emma to the vet, where she received emergency care. The vets gave Emma something for her pain and something to reduce swelling. They said that for now it was a waiting game. They had to wait for the medication to take effect before checking for bone damage or internal injuries.
They also said that they were concerned because one of Emma's pupils was dilated and the other wasn't. This, they said, could indicate a concussion. If she'd had a concussion, it could result in swelling of the brain, which in turn might lead to permanent brain damage or death. The next couple of hours would be crucial.
When my sister called me, I could tell right away that something was wrong. I was devastated but tried to remain calm. I told her the vet was probably only informing her of worst-case scenarios so she could be prepared if they happened. Most likely, things were going to turn out better than that.
After all, the vet had said to my sister, when she brought Emma in, that she'd seen worse injuries from vehicle collisions.
After I hung up, I broke down, crying over the sweet little golden haired dog who was now undoubtedly scared and hurt. My dog, Una, tried to comfort me. Between my tears, I told her, "Emma was hurt. Emma."
When she heard her sister's name, her ears pricked up. And when she realized that my crying must have something to do with Emma, she got noticeably upset. For awhile, we comforted each other, me squeezing Una way too close, her tolerantly licking away my tears.
But I soon calmed down and tried to get my mind off things by doing some work. It was useless; I couldn't write. Una and I took a walk instead.
Suddenly, about a half hour to 45 minutes after my sister's call, I was overcome with a feeling of peace and well-being, and I became certain that everything was going to be all right. But I still worried a bit, in the back of my mind, wondering if I could trust this feeling.
I tried to call my brother's place, but got an answering machine. I figured they must all be out, trying to distract themselves from the situation. Whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, I didn't know.
When my sister called me back, she sounded relieved. She told me the vets had been watching Emma and her status was improving. Her pupils were going back to normal, and her behavior seemed normal, as well. The vets asked if Emma was usually quiet and were assured that she was. Emma is shy around strangers, unlike my ebullient doggie, who enjoys licking people.
The next update was even better. My sister called me that evening to tell me that, after further examination, the vets had come to a remarkable conclusion: Emma had no broken bones! She was recovering well and didn't even seem to be limping very much.
"Emma is now officially a cat," my sister joked. This would make Emma happy. One of her best friends, besides Una, is my sister's cat, Beaner. They spend a lot of time together, snuggled up, and Emma has adopted Beaner's delicate cat habits. It's been a running joke among us that Emma really wants to be a cat.
It seems as if she's gotten her wish, and Beaner would be proud.
Moral:
Hang around with cats; it's good for you.
Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson
Other
writings by Alyce about pets:
(Dec. 21, 2002) - Una's Owner
(Feb.
21, 2003) - Dog's Eye View
(March
2, 2003) - Life as a Series of Pets
(March
25, 2003) - Crazy Humans
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