Andrew Schrauben

Haven and Beacon were on vacation at a small, secluded lake tucked away in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. There was a cottage at this lake where the humans enjoyed scrumptious homemade dinners and long conversations, but Haven and Beacon were here for the water. These dogs endured a dozen dreary hours in the backseat of a car in order to enjoy a few days retrieving sticks thrown into the lake.


Lake Ariel, where Beacon brings home a stick as Haven awaits a toss.

Playing in the Lake
The air was cool, the water was cold and the shoreline was rocky – perfect fetching weather if you just add an endless supply of sticks! Thanks to a recently felled pine limb, candidate tree branches abounded. Both pups love to get their paws wet but Beacon is the natural marine canine. He fearlessly paddles into the deep water to retrieve his bounty while Haven awaits his return in the belly-high shallows near shore. Haven would much rather tear up the turf in pursuit of a bouncing ball than make a splash for a floating stick. However, if she can succeed in stealing Beacon's catch while they're at wading depth, he stands little chance of getting it back on dry land. Haven was born to run.

Yet Haven is, after all, a Labrador Retriever. If enough sticks have been tossed into the lake to keep Beacon busy, she enjoys venturing out into deeper water to snatch a stick that he hasn't noticed. Such was the case on their second evening of retrieving, when Haven was proudly prancing through the shallow water after fetching a deep-water stick.


Crazy fun as Haven excitedly eyes Beacon's stick.

The Injury
Suddenly she felt a prick and took an awkward hop, dropped her prize and limped the remaining few feet onto the rocky shore. She never yelped or cried but clearly had been hurt as she fervently licked away a small spot of blood that was staining the white fur of her left front paw. By then Beacon had returned with a mouthful of sticks and Haven was off in pursuit, apparently unconcerned about her boo boo. After a brief chase she returned to the shore to continue tending her wound.

At this point I noticed that most of her entire paw was now bright red, and that she had left several bloody footprints on the dark slate rocks. Upon lifting her paw it became clear that the wound was not merely superficial as blood dripped steadily from between her "pinky finger" and "ring finger". The bloody fur precluded any visual inspection of the injury.

I walked with her up onto the deck - the tough girl showed no discomfort but seemed annoyed that one of her wheels was out of commission! Waiting for us was a bucket of clean tap water and some rags that Amanda had conjured up for first aid services. After a few dips in the bucket and several licks later, her paw was clean enough to reveal a long slice running the length of her "ring finger" and into her webbing (yes, labs have webbed feet). It must have been a piece of glass that did the damage. Fortunately the bleeding was coming to a halt and we tightly wrapped her paw in some gauze and topped that with some rags. Lastly we covered the whole ensemble with one of Amanda's socks, which happened to fit Haven just perfectly!


Haven shows off the improvised "field dressing" of her injury.

Expert Advice
A couple hours later we noticed some blood was soaking through the sock. After verifying that the bleeding had stopped, a layer of sandwich baggie was added under yet another sock to prevent Haven from leaving indelible footprints on the carpet. The local veterinarian's office was closed but our call was forwarded to an emergency animal hospital that was over half an hour away. The vet that answered did not sound concerned about the injury aside from the risk of infection, but naturally recommended that they see Haven. Equally naturally I inquired about the cost - $75 just to see her, plus $200 to $300 more if she needs stitches! By this time it was late and both humans and dogs were tired, so we decided to get some sleep and re-evaluate Haven's paw in the morning.

Right on schedule, Beacon was standing at my pillow to give his daily 5:30 AM wake-up whimper. Amanda and I made our way to the living room where Amanda quickly found a comfortable position on the sofa to "rest her eyes". Meanwhile I undressed Haven's paw and ascertained that she would probably need stitches – the separated skin was not staying together very well. I re-wrapped her paw, Amanda woke up and we drowsily petted the pooches until eight o'clock rolled around and I phoned the local veterinarian.

The man sounded quite old and not the least bit friendly. Hoping to gain a little trust, I introduced myself as the grandson-in-law of a former client (he used to look after Amanda's grandmother's little black poodle, Onyx) but the vet remained curt with me. "I'm busy now – I have other dogs on my schedule you know. Why didn't you go to the emergency animal hospital?" Nevertheless I set up an 11:30 AM appointment and focused my attention on more pressing matters – breakfast for both humans and dogs.

It turns out that this old vet is very local – just around the corner from where Amanda and I had walked with Haven and Beacon the previous morning! Amanda's parents gave me directions: "Turn left and go until a dead end, turn left again and right away make yet another left and his office is just a yellow house on the left..." I started to worry that I might miss it and wanted Amanda to come with me, but by this time Beacon was having emotional issues of his own and we decided it was best if Amanda stayed at home with Beacon so that he wouldn't be left alone. So I loaded Haven into the car and set out on our trip to the vet.

The Vet
His office/home was actually easy to find. It was yellow-sided house that backed up to the same lake in which Haven and Beacon had been playing. The back door of the walkout basement served as the entrance and I was surprised to see an old man open the door as Haven and I approached. The vet wasn't the only man to greet me – Bob Barker's voice was blaring from a small TV mounted high in the corner of the foyer! I wondered if Haven's unscheduled appointment was interrupting his "The Price Is Right" lunch hour. The vet was quite old – instantly he reminded me of that old man in the Six Flags commercials who gets off the bus and starts dancing. This guy never came close to dancing and he wore navy blue doctor's scrubs.

The vet remained as terse as he had sounded over the phone, quickly gesturing me into the examination room next to the foyer. This area was small and narrow, like a rest stop in a hallway. Indeed, the storage room lay beyond and appeared much larger. That room also appeared like a high school chemistry classroom that hadn't been touched since the 1970s! Bottles, cans, bags, and containers of every kind littered the countertops and cabinets. It looked like a mess but I had a feeling that this man could walk in there with his eyes closed and still find the exact little vial of medicine he was looking for.

The right wall of the examining room was simply a long, jade green counter with white cabinets above and below. The back wall faced the lake, which I could almost distinguish if I squinted just right through the distorted glass-brick window. On the left was a low, stainless steel platform topped with a black rubber mat that sat a couple inches off the black tile floor. I was instructed to get Haven onto that platform but she recognized this veterinary routine and refused to budge. Surely this small-town vet was silently scoffing at the yuppie from upstate New York with his purebred, undisciplined pooch. True, most of the out-of-towners would fit this stereotype. But I was a relative of a dyed-in-the-wool local family who had lived on this lake for almost a hundred years!

So I had to lift Haven onto the platform, where the vet clipped two ropes onto her collar to keep her secure. To the right of the platform he pushed a button and with an electric whine the platform began to rise. Poor Haven was trembling with fear as she stared at the receding floor! Now she was conveniently at waist level, putting the backs of her ears within easy reach of my comforting fingertips. This examination table doubled as a scale, with digital readout showing that Haven was a lean 66.2 pounds. She had arrived at the lake weighing in at 70 – two days of ball chasing and stick fetching worked her into fine shape!

Put Her Under?
The vet began asking me for the basic information and writing down my answers. His old hands were shaking so much that this handwriting could've passed for hieroglyphics! He scolded me for not having Haven's vaccination records on hand (a good travel tip in the future) and for having fed her breakfast, since the use of anesthesia can cause nausea.

Speaking of which, he then stated that he would have to put her under anesthesia since he doesn't know (and apparently doesn't trust) the dog or even me. Politely I protested, making it clear to him that Haven is an absolute sweetheart with people and had been allowing me to freely examine her injured paw. Then I inquired about using a local anesthetic on her paw, but he responded that some dogs might still go nuts with a stranger handling a numb paw.

Maybe it's just me, but I am not inclined to knock out a dog (or myself, for that matter) for a medical procedure that could be handled with local painkillers instead. This vet was not even going to remove her makeshift bandage unless she was out cold! He finally told me that I could take my dog elsewhere if I refused to put her under, so I grudgingly consented. Boy, was this guy gruff or what? Finally he showed a measure of compassion when he informed me that he would use less than the normal dose so that Haven would be only "lightly" unconscious instead of totally out to lunch. He gave her two shots: the first was something to keep her mouth dry so she wouldn't drool all over the place when unconscious, and the second was the initial dose of anesthesia. Haven proved me right by not reacting whatsoever to either the vet's touch or the needle pricks.

Small Talk
Haven is so sweet. She continued to stand, shivering, as we waited for the drug to take effect. Her eyes became really heavy but she didn't even sit down. Meanwhile, I took advantage of the pause to attempt convincing the vet that I'm really a nice fella. I mentioned the name of Amanda's grandma and asked if he knew her. He recognized the name but otherwise, nothing. So I asked if he recognized her maiden name and his face lit up, "Oh yeah!" He then asked me about someone he knew quite well of the same last name, who indeed was the cousin of Amanda's mother, who also has lived on the lake for quite a while. The vet then told me a story of how years ago he had pulled a fishhook out of the cousin's arm. The cousin had insisted despite the veterinarian's protest that he should see a human doctor. The vet then added "Of course, I would only do that for someone I know very well." Of course.

Well, stubborn Haven was still standing up so the vet gave her the second dose of anesthesia and we waited some more. He asked me where our cottage was located. "Bluebird Lane" I replied, although I didn't know the address so I added that we were right next to the lone island in the lake. "Ahhh, that's the area that we locals call The Hideout!" Sure enough, he rattled off the names of our neighbors.

And now he could trust us. He began petting Haven, calling her a "pretty girl" and other such names. Her eyes were really droopy now – she looked almost like a bloodhound! Finally she sat her butt down and was falling asleep sitting up when the vet gently pulled her front legs out so she would lie down. We flipped her onto her side and the vet performed the "out cold" test – he pulled out her tongue. When she didn't pull it back in, he said, that was the sign that she was under and ready to be examined.


Proof that Haven is out cold - her tongue sticks out.

Three Stitches
When he removed the bandages that I had improvised the night before, he seemed surprised. He then complimented me for doing such a nice job wrapping up her paw, saying that he couldn't have done it better himself. This seemed to be the final proof that he needed in order to finally believe that I'm a trustworthy guy who treats his dogs properly. We looked at her cut and he confirmed my suspicion that glass had been the culprit. No way, he asserted, that a sharp rock could make such a clean slice at that location. This prompted a brief tirade over the inebriated fishermen who have been frequenting the lake in recent years and have no qualms about using the shoreline as a "recycling bin" for glass bottles.

The wound required stitches. I was very curious to see how an old man who couldn't write the letter "O" without several corners was going to tie some stitches between the fingers of a dog's paw! He asked me to hold up Haven's paw and to spread her fingers apart while he performed the needlework. Two minutes later he was done! This guy was surprisingly deft with the procedure and made short work of the three stitches that closed Haven's wound.

Club Foot
He may have been quick at sewing but bandaging was another story. First he put a small square of gauze between Haven's toes. Then he pulled out a 12-inch length of medical tape, sticking one end to the top of her paw and running it up along her leg to well above her wrist. Next he picked up a roll of gauze but then decided it was too narrow and went to look for a wider roll. He returned from the storage room with the gauze and began wrapping her paw once, twice, thrice, four times... I lost count but by the time he was done, her paw could've passed for the hoof of a Clydesdale! Now he folded over the remaining length of that 12-inch tape, which became an anchor point for the next layer. He called it "vet wrap" – it was a green bandage similar to an ace bandage but thinner, stretchier, and it sticks to itself. This roll, however, was too wide for his liking and he didn't have narrower rolls, so he gets out a scalpel and cuts the entire roll into thirds. Again, countless wraps were applied until her left front paw was now twice as big as the right one! Back into the storage room he goes and returns with narrow medical tape, which he uses to secure any lose ends of the vet wrap. Voila! Haven's bandage is done after 15 minutes of artistry.

She has to keep the stitches in for two weeks, then I will have to remove them myself. Walking on her paw is OK but she shouldn't run or jump, as the impact forces would splay out her paws, which might pull the cut open. Keep it dry, he advised me, and it should only need to be changed every few days. I asked if I should put a sock over the whole ensemble to keep it clean and he agreed, admitting that it was a great idea that he had never thought of before. This old vet with decades of experience has figured out how to carve up entire rolls of gauze to perfection but never thinks to put an old sock on a dog's foot? I decided not to mention that I also planned to put a sandwich baggie over the sock whenever I take Haven outside if the ground is wet.

Precious Cargo
The vet pulls out her tongue and exclaims "Nice, healthy pink!" and then checks her pulse with a stethoscope; "Strong pulse, too." He even adds a pinch to the skin on her rib cage and tells me that her weight is perfect, cautioning me about all of the overweight labs he has seen in his career. He suggested that we keep her at this weight. He un-tethers her collar and finally, Haven is ready to go home.

The vet sends me out to bring my car around back of his office to be close to the door. When I return I find him wheeling Haven out on a rolling table-cart! Carefully he maneuvers her through two doorways as her limp body slides all over the place since she still has some loose puppy skin. There was a big bump going over the threshold and her head slid off the edge! I wind up helping him lift the cart over the ledge and then I guard Haven's head and other extremities from flopping off again. It's amazing how limp an unconscious dog can be. We get her to the car and I climb into the back seat from the opposite side and lift her butt while he picks up her front half and together we slide her onto the seat. He informs me that Haven will wake up in about an hour or two. Then she blinks twice and he exclaims "Well, she's blinking already! Looks like she'll be awake sooner than later."


Loaded in the car with her freshly stitched and wrapped paw.

Cash or Credit?
Once again I assist the vet in getting the cart back into his office, where I then watch him adding numbers on a notepad: $20 for the visit, $45 for the stitches, and $15 for the bandaging. The total bill was only $80! Not bad at all. Skeptically I ask if he takes a credit card (I'm hoping we can earn more "Bean Bucks" on our L. L. Bean Visa). "Nope." It was just as I had figured. Amanda and I always bring extra cash on long trips and I had stocked my wallet before going to the vet just in case this happened. Reflexively I ask "Well then, do you take cash?" He burst out laughing "I can't imagine anyone in this country who would say no to cold, hard cash!" I hand over four twenties, he shakes my hand, and I'm out the door. Later I realize that there was never a receipt of any kind!

Homeward Bound
Although it was only a two-minute drive back to the cottage, I find myself driving slowly and taking every turn extra carefully to make the ride as smooth as possible for poor, limp Haven. Not that she would've noticed!

After I pull up to the front door, I look at my watch and realize that I had been gone for an hour and fifteen minutes. I walk inside, quickly sum up the visit for all relatives who are present, and Amanda and I return to the car so she can see Haven. She was so cute just lying there with her big, bandaged paw and her tongue hanging out a few inches. Then she started blinking. Amanda and I wanted to take her inside but how do you carry a dog that can't lift her own head? Since the weather was nice – mid fifties and sunny – we just stood at the car watching over her. Soon she was licking her nose, although it was funny because she couldn't pull her tongue in. Her tongue would just slap against her nose and then fall onto the seat, over and over again!

Awakening
Minute by minute we watched her wake up in stages. Her eyes began to look around but remained dilated. Her head wiggled a bit and her legs twitched gently. Then we heard a faint whimper; then another, slightly louder; and again, and again, louder each time. Now she was whining loudly despite her tongue still hanging out the front of her mouth. We realized that Haven was terribly frightened – her whines and cries were the most insistent and agitated that we've ever heard. Yet they grew even louder! Her cries began to include a warbling tone and were so loud that our relatives were coming out to the car to see what was going on.

It was the most sad and pitiful sight I have ever seen. Haven was practically screaming at the top of her lungs although her mouth remained closed with her tongue hanging out and she still couldn't lift her head or move her legs more than just a twitch. The poor girl was terrified because she was wide awake and totally paralyzed. Amanda and I were constantly talking to her and petting her, trying to make her feel more at ease. She just screamed and screamed. There was nothing more we could do!

Finally she started being able to pick up her head, although no sooner had she lifted it, her head flopped back down again. Several times this happened and even though she couldn't help it, we had to laugh as her head bobbed up and down repeatedly. Having this ability to move her head, however slight, calmed her down and she stopped whining. Soon she had a bit more control of her head and was able to keep it from flopping down, although it still wobbled considerably when she held it up. I figured it was a good time to carry her indoors since she at least had some control over her head.

Once inside, I set Haven on her little foam bed on the floor of our bedroom. She was exhausted and for a few minutes she merely lay there, moving only her eyes. Soon, however, she wanted to get up again and resumed her head-bobbing routine as she had done in the car. Beacon didn't know what to make of the situation so he retreated to his favorite hiding place under the bed and watched over Haven from there. She calmed down after a few minutes so we closed the door and left Beacon in charge as the rest of us humans had lunch.


Getting plush treatment with two foam pads and some towels.

Staggering
After a healthy dose of turkey sandwiches and potato chips, we checked on the puppies and found that Haven had been trying to stand up. She also managed to pee a couple times, probably against her own will due to the effects of her anesthesia. It was incredibly sad and cute at the same time, watching her try to stand up. She looked just like Bambi! Then suddenly she found herself with four paws on the floor beneath her body. Eager to go somewhere, it didn't matter where, she bolted for the doorway and promptly crashed to the ground. She half-staggered, half-dragged herself into the hallway before I got a hold of her and turned her around.

However, she was determined to make her way into the family room where all of the action was taking place. Once again she wiggled her way onto four legs and made a wobbly dash into the hallway. Haven then embarked on what was the most hilarious and inspiring trek I have ever seen. Barely able to stand because her muscles were still recovering from the anesthesia hangover, not to mention one heavily bandaged front paw, she started hobbling down the hallway. She literally bounced her butt from wall to wall and had her legs slide out from under her numerous times, even to the point of completely doing the splits with her hind legs! Nevertheless, she pressed on and after a couple minutes she had reached the foot of an easy chair on the far side of the living room, where she flopped to the ground and let out a big sigh. Success!

She lay there for several minutes, resting and watching everybody in the room even though her head behaved just like a bobble head doll. Beacon wasn't making life easy for Haven, either. He kept walking past her, apparently trying to show some support but each time by he would bump into her and knock her clean over! As the minutes ticked and tocked her coordination improved consistently. She could walk while maintaining direction, she could keep her legs under her, and she could sit up. Her head still wobbled as though she were sitting on a washing machine during the spin cycle, but at least she could focus her eyes.

Recovery
At this time Amanda and I left with her dad to run some errands (which included buying extra gauze and bandages for when we have to re-wrap Haven's paw), leaving the pups in the care of Amanda's mom and uncle. When we returned half an hour later, Haven was back to normal and fully recovered. She still limped due to the massive bandage on her paw, but her motions were smooth. She has since gotten used to walking with a human sock on her canine leg, although she still tries to lick it. It will be tough to keep her from running for two weeks!

For her, it must have been one heck of a confusing experience. For me, it was fascinating. Yes, it was sad and happy and so much else, but what really made an impression on me was the entire ordeal. I feel lucky to have been there for everything that happened – I saw the moment she stepped on the glass, noticed the blood and examined her injury, wrapped her paw in gauze, checked on it periodically, called a vet twice, and took her to the vet. Being able to watch the process of anesthesia, stitches, bandaging, and loading her limp body into the car was something I've never experienced. And then to witness her recovery from the effects of anesthesia – her drowsiness, fear, determination, and overall goofiness – that was one of a kind. Of course, I cannot count the number of times I petted Haven and told her that she was such a good girl.

It is hard to explain the effect that the entire ordeal had on me, other than to say I am very lucky to have been able to be with Haven every step of the way. If she could talk she might try to thank me for being there, but instead I would rather thank her for allowing me to be there. And if Haven could talk, she would certainly tell Beacon "Hey little brother, in two weeks you had better watch out!"