Old Leon has been through a lot in her life. She has (yes, Leon is a she) been ridden by grandkids, kicked by cows, run over by a truck, and had her upper lip almost torn off while protecting a ham bone from a Lab. She always gets up afterwards, shakes her head, and goes on.

However, the 1991 deer season was almost too much for her. I walked out of the house one morning and called her as I always did, but by the time I got to my pick-up she still was not in sight. Slightly irritated, I called "Leon, if you're going with me you better get up here right now, 'cause I'm not going to wait."

As I started to get in the truck she came slowly around the corner of the house. She was split 27 inches from shoulder to hip, and had a strip of hide 27 inches long and 8 inches wide hanging down and swinging back and forth under her stomach as she walked. She would take three or four steps, then stop and look back with a pained, puzzled expression on her face. I ran over to her and stared in amazement. I couldn't believe she was on her feet with a wound like that. It apparently happened the afternoon before, because she had straw matted on the wound. She had made it home on her own and spent the night bedded down in the barn.

My first thought was to get my gun and put her out of her misery. However we had been through a lot together during her ten years, and I just could not do it. I helped her into my truck and headed toward Brush Creek Veterinary Clinic.

Before I reached the clinic I met Dr. Robert Kinkead and Dr. Sharon Yeagle heading out to make a farm call. Doc Kinkead asked what I needed, and I replied that I wanted him to put Leon to sleep. He looked in the window at her, and in a slightly awed tone of voice asked what had happened. I replied that I hoped that a car had hit her, because I hated to think that there was an animal loose in the neighborhood that could do that. It never occurred to either of us that a gunshot could have caused that wound. Doc told me later that when Sharon returned to the clinic and entered the operating room her first comment was "that dog has been shot!"

He said "Hon, it couldn't look much worse, but it seems to be shallow, I think we can sew her up and she'll be O.K. in thirty days."

We discussed it, and I left with instructions to call to check on her condition. I called the clinic in two hours and was told they were still working on her. Two hours later I was told the same thing. I arrived at the clinic about an hour later and they were just finishing up. Dr. Michele Baccaro (the small animal specialist at Brush Creek at that time), and two lab technicians had been working on Leon for five hours. Doc told me that when they started on her they found three chunks of lead lodged in her hip. She had been shot with a high caliber hollow point bullet. It had hit her shoulder blade, shattered, and followed her rib cage back, skinning her as it went.

Leon was shaved, sutured, doped up on anesthetic, and all in all about the sorriest looking specimen I ever hope to see. I told Doc to give me a couple of weeks to mortgage the farm before he sent me a bill. It was almost five months before money was mentioned again.

Leon would not eat while she was caged up at the clinic, so two days later I brought her home, put her in a basement room, fixed her a bed, turned on a heater, and tried to make her comfortable. I let her out for a little while each morning, gave her some pills, cleaned her wound, applied salve, and otherwise tried to imitate a vet. At least once a day, Dr. Baccaro called to check on her condition.

After about a week she ripped out some of her stitches. Back to the clinic we went, where Doc decided it was probably best to leave them out for drainage purposes. Three days later, there was a 4 x 8 inch area where the hide had fallen off. The wound was infected around the edges, and old Leon was one miserable looking hound. I decided that this time there was no choice except to put her to sleep.

I took her with me that morning while I was feeding my cattle, to get in at least four more hours of companionship, and by the time we reached the clinic it is questionable who felt worse, Leon or me. With tears running down my cheeks, I told Doc to come out to the truck and put her to sleep. He asked me if I was sure that was what I wanted to do.

I replied "Doc, she doesn't have any hide, what else can we do with her? I can't stand to see her suffer any more."

He just shook his head, went inside, then returned with a syringe and sat in the truck with his hand on her hip, looking at her. Finally, he slammed the syringe down on the dash and said, "Damn it, Hon, I've healed worse than that. I'll make you an offer. Leave that ugly old thing with me for ten days, it won't cost you a penny. If she doesn't do right, I'll put her to sleep and then call you. Now get out of my way, I don't want to see you or hear from you for ten days."

I managed to wait the full ten days before I called, and when I did Dr. Baccaro told me that, except for not eating too well, Leon was doing fine, to call back in a week. A week later I was told "Real good, she's decided she'll eat a little bit if we give her canned cat food, check back in another week." A week later Doc said "Doing great, but I want to keep her for a few more days. Pick her up at noon on Christmas eve, you'll have her home in time for Santa Claus."

When I picked Leon up after not seeing her for twenty eight days she was ecstatic. She was wearing a large pink plastic collar so she could not lick the wound, which was still open, but she looked so much better I could hardly believe it. Doc sent me home with sixty days worth of pills and a large jar of salve, and told me to try to keep her quiet until the wound was completely closed.

The next morning I let her out for a few minutes, and she immediately crawled under the yard fence and went to the woods. I heard her collar slapping on brush for several minutes, then silence. Soon, Leon came out of the woods without her collar; she had dragged it on the brush until it came unsnapped. If a dog can smile, I guarantee that she was smiling. Before I put her back inside I drilled holes in the collar and laced it on with a leather boot lace. The next morning she went to the brush and beat around for at least fifteen minutes. When she came back with the collar still on she gave me the dirtiest look I have ever seen.

About six weeks later I had to tighten the collar. She had learned to slip her head and the collar through a barbed wire fence, then back up and position the collar against two wires. She would then stand patiently while she applied pressure and slowly twisted her head back and forth until it slipped out of the collar. The first time she tried that after I had tightened it she spent almost an hour before she finally gave up.

Old Leon had just about destroyed the storage room the first time around, so for the sake of my marriage, I built her a pen in the corner of my shop building. I gave her an old mattress, hung an electric heater out of her reach, and placed food and water in the pen. As I went out the door she started howling, and howled for two hours before she quit. She did this every day for three months, until she finally healed enough that I quit shutting her inside.

When I let her out the next morning she had drank a lot of water but had not eaten anything. I took her with me while I fed, then put her back in the pen and tried to get her to eat. She would not touch her food. I went to the house and got a pound of hamburger that my wife had thawed out for supper, and fed that to her one bite at a time. The next day I tried canned dog food and she looked at me like I was crazy. The following day I stopped at the grocery store and purchased ten pounds of out-of-date lunch meat and hot dogs for 25 cents per pound.

For 2 1/2 months she ate a pound of meat every morning, and a pound every evening. Dr. Baccaro kept telling me that Leon needed something besides meat, but that was all she would eat and she seemed to thrive on it. Her coat slicked up and she slowly began to gain back some of her lost weight.

I took Leon with me every morning while I was feeding, then let her roam for a few minutes before shutting her in the shop. By the third day she decided that if she did not come when I called she could stay out a lot longer. It took over an hour to finally get her inside that day. She had never been on a leash, but after that I bought one and put it on her before I let her out of the truck. She did not like it, but at least I could get her back in the shop when I wanted to.

Leon has a bald spot on her side about four inches long and a slight hump in her back when she is sitting, but other than that she is completely healed. However, it did take its toll on her in one way. During the six months that she was healing her muzzle turned almost completely grey.

When she was finally pronounced healed, Doc decided it was time to give me a bill. He grabbed some paper and a small calculator and started punching numbers and writing them down. After about ten minutes, he looked up and asked, "Hon, would $206 be too much?"

That probably didn't cover the cost of the medicine, but I told him it seemed awfully high for no more than he'd done, but since I didn't have time to argue I'd just go ahead and pay him.

When Leon was at the clinic, she spent a lot of time roaming loose inside. They have a 17 year old yellow cat which spends about 23 hours each day sleeping on a couch. Leon and the old cat became good friends. Doc said when she was out of her cage she would sit next to the couch, alternately watching the cat and gazing out the window. Now when Leon goes back to the clinic, I let her out of the truck and she beats me to the door. When I let her in she immediately goes to the couch and checks out the old cat, then wanders slowly into the examining room and stands there patiently waiting to see what they are going to do to her this time.

Doc told me recently, "That ugly old hound should have been dead a long time ago, but I never could stand to see a grown man cry." Leon and I are both glad that he can't.

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