She's ok and almost back to her old self.
Now you can rest easy when I tell you the whole thing.
Friday night we found ourselves with no plans, no desire to cook and no reason not to go out to eat. So John loaded the baby in the car and I grabbed the diaper bag and headed out the door. Now, usually Mocha, our 5-yr-old chocolate lab, tries to come with us, but we block her exit and tell her no and slip out the door.
This time, however, she pushed past me and gleefully started her romp around our little neighborhood. It was still light out and lots of neighbors were outside, so we figured she would be more interested in meeting new people than running and we'd be able to catch her soon. We positioned ourselves where we could best watch her, because chasing her doesn't work. It was all fun and games until after about 10 minutes. I guess she got bored with our neighborhood and ran across the road.
I was standing where I could see her, but not catch her, so unfortunately I had a clear but helpless view of the incident.
She ran in front of a black Jaguar, which clipped her back end and sent her flying into the ditch. The car didn't even slow down and I screamed as I watched what I thought was my dog getting killed. I turned my head to scream for John, then looked back to where she had landed.
Miracles of miracles, my stupid, lucky dog was walking back across the road toward me. I yelled her name as yet another car was bearing down on her, so she ran the rest of the way right to me with her tail between her legs.
Several neighbors had heard both the thump of the hit and her yelp, so they came running with blankets and offers of help. John and some of the guys loaded her into the Jeep and I got in the car (where Baby Z was sleeping the whole time) and we raced to the Vet ER.
On the way I realized I have developed a new coping mechanism. Instead of freaking out when crisis hits, I start composing a blog in my head. I wrote this one a few times on the way to the vets.
As I kept replaying the scene of her getting hit and thrown into the ditch, the more I felt it, like it had actually happened to me. Then I remembered. It had happened to me.
Seven years ago I did a sprint triathlon. During the run portion, about a mile in, an elderly lady who was confused by the cones in the road and picked the wrong lane to drive in, struck me from behind, throwing me about 10 feet forward. Fortunately, I landed on my arm and only suffered a deep abrasion there as well as a torn ligament in my shin. I felt fine enough to get up and finish the race, then went to the ER out of concern a more serious injury was being masked by the adrenaline and endorphins. So, I got a great story and a big scar out of the ordeal.
(Crossing the finish line displaying injury that earned me the nickname "Road Kill")
Now I was experiencing it again and thinking of how just a few seconds would've made a world of difference on where she was hit and what would've happened. I was also replaying her escape, trying to think of what I could've done differently to keep her in, how we should get her some training on not running away, and hating the driver of the black Jaguar for not even slowing down.
Mocha, on the other hand, thought she was having a special ride with her master after getting lots of attention from her new friends. She walked cluelessly into the vets with only a slight limp, just wagging her tail and smiling like this was fun.
John was amazing the whole time, assuring me that he wasn't mad at me or blaming me for anything.
X-rays and an exam revealed nothing broken or busted. The vet released her with some pain meds and instructions on what to watch for.
(For only a few hundred dollars, we got a free CD with her x-ray shots)
Other than walking around stiffly, she is ok and almost back to her old self. She still follows me everywhere around the house. She still tries to get as close as possible at all times to either me or John and still tries to follow us out the door.
I think my husband is starting to understand the way I need to process things. While we were waiting for the verdict at the vets, he turned to me and said, "Well, at least it's something to blog about!"
(Oh, and so as not to leave you hanging on what we did for dinner, there was an Outback right next to the vet, so we got takeout. Yummy!)