The puppy weighed seven pounds and, judging from his teeth, was probably four-and-a-half months old, Dr. Powers said.
He had severe trauma to his shoulder and possibly some internal bleeding. Nothing appeared broken.
He was a mix. His markings and coat made us think of German shepherds, his stubby legs, deep chest, and long body reminded us of corgis, dachshunds, and basset hounds.
We assigned a name for the records, then the discussion turned to cost: how much was I willing to pay to keep this game little stranger alive?
Envisioning a child's tear-streaked face and looking into those puppy eyes, I told the doctor to not worry about the cost right now. She would keep me apprised of her efforts and I would make further decisions based on the outlook. It was only money, after all, and my tech writing job paid well.
When I went home, I promised Forrest that I would canvas the area where I'd hit the dog, searching for its owner.
That night, Dr. Powers called twice.
The pup needed a transfusion, was I willing to pay for it? It was not an outrageous amount, so, yes.
The pup seemed to be out of immediate danger, but was terribly thin, and had intestinal worms and ear mites in addition to the fleas and ticks — should she treat them? Yes.
Since it didn't sound as though the dog had been maintained, I added, she might as well do the appropriate vaccinations for a pup his age.
The next day, Skid was better, although bruised and battered with a few stitches here and there. Dr. Powers guessed that he had been abandoned for at least a month, probably longer, and speculated that the other pup — the one I'd avoided — may well have been a sibling, all that was left of a litter dumped somewhere in Chatham shortly after they were weaned (normally at two to three months).
The two pups had looked very much alike.
A day later, I wrote a check and took Skid home. >>
