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| The Wonder Dog by � artnsolitude A few years ago, before I really became involved in driving, I worked as a pipefitter's helper in Cary, NC. I owed the company a few hours and had to make it up on a Saturday, so I loaded up my dog, a large half dobie/ half rott mix of about 90 pounds into my truck and headed out to the site. I wanted to introduce him to my friends, so I walked him up to the roof, coaxing him into jumping over short walls that divided the roof sections. He wouldn't do it at first, he never was much for jumping (he wouldn't even jump on top of his doghouse), but after I climbed over and showed him that there was indeed a floor on the other side, he bravely took the plunge - up and over. Good boy. We climbed/jumped over at least three such walls getting to the section where I was to begin work. Introducing my dog to my fitter, I walked over to the edge to call for Rick, the supervisor, to have him come meet my dog. Not seeing Rick, I turned back to my fitter, and saw a black blur out of the corner of my eye.....up and over...... I looked back and watched my dog plunge 18 feet to the top of the wall around the boiler stack which he struck full force on his chest, and fell another three to four feet back to the grate, which luckily prevented his falling another twenty-five feet to the boiler room floor. "The dumb SOB jumped, I screamed at the fitter." And raced to the ladder that led to the ground level. I could hear his screams (Yes screams) of fear and pain as I climbed the ladder. I'd never heard this sound come from an animal before, especially not from him. I could still see his outstretched front legs, flying like Superdog without a cape, the look of confusion on his face as he fell. I reached the bottom of the ladder and ran to the boiler stack, followed closely by my fitter. I couldn't find him. Oh my God, I thought, he must have fallen down the boiler stack, the grating only covered about half of the large opening. I heard a whimper and climbed over the wall to look behind the boiler stack. There he was, all curled up and pitiful looking. His nose was bleeding and his chest was scraped from striking the wall on his way down. I picked him up gingerly and handed him over the wall to my fitter, then asked him to go get my pick up and bring it around to me. He ran off to do as I bade. Then the da-ndest things happened. He rolled over, sat up, shook his head, and walked casually over to one of the building supports and proceeded to relieve himself. I was stunned. The fitter returned with my truck, into which I loaded him, and headed over to a Saturday vet. He took x-rays, stool samples, blood samples, performed all manner of exams, only to tell me that there wasn't anything wrong with my dog besides the two scrapes on his chest. He gave him a prescription for antibiotics and some doggy downers and sent us home. (He should have given him one for valium, then we could have shared.) I had to make up the time the following week, sans dog. art ps. We called him Superdog for many years to come. Fourteen in all. We had to have him put down this year for complications of old age. pps. Good boy, Mace. |