Dreamland

Bleeding Like a Stuck Pig

I'm living on a ramshackle old wooden house with a woman I knew in a former life. We've got this big old golden retriever for our pet. I'm coming home from taking the dog for a walk.

As we approach the house, rather than waiting for me to open the door, Goldie runs up the steps and crashes through the glass window into the living room. We usually leave that window open for air so the dog is used to jumping through it, but unfortunately it was a cool afternoon, so Brenda shut it earlier.

I run through the door and the dog is laying on the floor. Dark maroon blood is jetting from the dog's neck like a fountain. Brenda kneels down next to the dog, puts her hand over the wound trying to stop the blood. "Hurry! Get a cloth! a towel! anything!"

Frantic, I run into the laundry room. There's a stack of folded clothes on top of the drier. I grab the first thing I see, a pair of my khaki slacks, and rush back to the living room.

Brenda pushes the folded slacks against Goldie's neck to stop the bleeding. I'm trying to think of what to do next. Do they have a 911 number for dogs? "Should I call the animal hospital?" I ask Brenda

"No, the bleeding is almost stopped." she says.

"But it'll start up again as soon as you let go of her!"

"I'll just keep pressure on it until she heals," she says.

"But that could take days!" I say.

"That's OK, we'll be fine," she says.

Looks like I won't be getting my khakis back for a while.