An Impossible Showdown

The Mailman vs. John Wayne.

Spoiler!




The mailman wins.

I suppose the mailman could sue me for libel, because we don't know that he's the one who hit good ol' J.W., but his loud muffler has a unique timbre, and I'm half-certain it's the same sound I heard before the yelping began. (Half-certain? Is that even possible?)

Both the radius and ulna on his front leg were clearly broken, and since the broken portion formed a right angle with the rest of his leg, I knew it was beyond a simple "let's just let the bone set as it is" remedy.

He whimpered in a snowbank and couldn't walk, so I carried him into the basement and made him as comfortable as I could before going upstairs to soothe the weeping girls. I guess I didn't completely succeed, because I also wanted to be honest with them. I told them we might have to release him from the pain (i.e. KILL him) if we couldn't afford a vet's price for fixing the leg.

After calling around to several local animal hospitals and veterinarians, the cheapest quote I was given was $400 - $600, which would have increased once they realized that he hasn't had a full battery of shots. The girls and I had prayed that God would graciously provide someone who could properly tend to him, and in desperation I asked one of the receptionists if she knew of anyone who could set his leg for a cheaper price. She gave me the name of a vet, whom I immediately called. Get this. He had office hours that night (one of only two days a week he'll see patients in the evening), and she gave me a quote of $45.00, assuming he could set the leg without needing sophisticated equipment he does not have in his practice. Forty-five dollars! Sure, we could use that money to buy 80 chocolate bars, but still!

The final tally was $75.00; the receptionist was apologetic (!) that the quote was $30 less, but we were sent home with 10 days worth of antibiotics, too, as well as a pup who hopefully has learned how fearsome mailmen are.



The day after the showdown, John Wayne was still cowed and shell-shocked. His tail seemed permanently curled between his legs, and when he found himself stuck on top of a snowbank, he sat and looked at me mournfully while I called. I ended up carrying him around for two days before he found his legs again.



And now he's once more a pesky pest and my companion for chores of all kinds.



(Only three and a half more weeks of cleaning up his fetid messes, bagging and taping his cast each morning, cutting the tape off at nights, blow-drying the damp cast to avoid infection, and generally wondering how, in spite of all these, he's so darn loveable...)