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January 19, 2005
Ginger the Bulldog
"God. I think I'm losing my mind. I just missed a meeeting. Do you have that paper done? Oh! I've got it here. -- I am so stressed." That's the way my boss usually talked, but one day he came up to me and said something like, "Brian, I'm going out of town for the weekend. Do you think you could take care of my dog?"
"Sure." Why not?It's not like it'll be hard. I had two dogs, so I knew how to take care of them. Plus I was already taking care of two, three couldn't be much more work, especially considering it possibly meant my boss might relax for a weekend and freak out slightly less in the coming week. "When are you leaving?"
"Friday. I'll be back late Monday afternoon." It was a three day weekend - he's not the type of guy that would miss a chance to tear at the six or seven hairs remaining on his head. Not on a workday.
"Cool. Just bring your dog by my house whenever. Is there anything I should know about it?"
"Not that I can think of." He just bought the dog from another guy at work.
The other guy had to get rid of the purebred English bulldog because his wife ran a restaurant of sorts out of their house. She was Korean and used her exotic cooking skills to cook up carry out for his co workers. Since they lived only a few blocks from the office business at the "Korea House" was pretty good and she wanted to make the house more like real restaurant. The situation was like a(n American) restaurant in a couple ways: menus and no dogs in the kitchen.
Actually, she didn't want the dog in the house at all, ever. So her husband sold the dog to my boss. My boss wanted it because so many people said he looked like a bulldog. I'm not sure why people said that about him. Not every chubby, bald guy with jowls looks like a bulldog.
I took his dog in and the weekend was pretty uneventful. The most exciting thing was when my friend came over and got the dog to chase him around a pole in the yard. It, Ginger, was quite possibly the most clumsy animal ever - even more clumsy than my cat. It chased him around the pole tripping and falling over itself. We were very amused.
On Monday, our day off and the day my boss was to return, we planned to meet up at a fireworks show in a park not far from my house. Since it was only about two or three miles away I decided to walk all three dogs there. It was a nice, sunny summer day. It wasn't too hot, even though the fireworks were for the fourth of July, one of the hotter months of the year. It had actually been a pretty mild summer since I started working for him in mid May.
About halfway to the park his dog, Ginger, stopped. She dug her four paws into the ground and leaned back; the same stance my dogs take when they want me to stop walking so they can go to the bathroom (really they're dogs. They don't use the "bathroom." But you know what I mean). So I stopped and waited. Ginger did nothing for about 20 seconds or so. I gave her leash a tug and we started up again.
We got about 10 yards before I felt her stop again. I looked back at her end of the leash and saw her fall over on her side and take a leak. Man, that is the clumsiest dog ever.
I waited for a bit for her to get up. I noticed she had also taken a dump. God. This is the weirdest dog ever.
"Come on Ginger. Let's go drop you off with your dad." As soon as I said that her tongue flopped out of her mouth. Normally that would be good, but considering she wasn't panting, she was lying on her side with one open eye pressed to the sidewalk and she had just released her bowels I didn't take it as a good sign.
Holy shit. Ginger's dead!
No. She can't be.
I poked her. "Come on Ginger. Don't be dead." If she was dead I wasn't talking her out of it, her head rolled over to the side a little. I grabbed her tongue to see if she was all right. No dog would let you grab its tongue, right? She let me grab her tongue.
Oh no. She's dead. I just killed my bosses dog!
No. Wait. She's just passed out. She got too hot, that's all.
No. Crap. It's only 78 degrees. She's dead.
No. No. She's just passed out. Heat stroke. Doggy heat stroke.
She's not breathing. She's dead.
I'm no vet. How would I know if she's not breathing. Dogs may sneak breathe so they seem dead. I've got to get her to the vet.
Yeah. The vet. Will it be open on the fourth of July?
Try. You've got to try.
I grabbed Ginger, the deceptively heavy dog and started running to the vet. I was closer to the vet than I was to home. Damn. This dog is heavy. She must weigh 80 pounds. I can't carry her all the way there. Not if I plan to make good time, which I have to do because there is no way Ginger is dead.
then I noticed a house across the street. It belonged to someone from work. Someone I had seen around, but never talked to. I can't go over there, I don't even know her name.
But I've got a dead dog in your arms.
Yeah, I've got a dead dog in my arms.
Wait. No. A passed out dog. She'll drive me to the vet.
What am I going to do with my dogs? Asking someone to pack you and three dogs, one of them dead passed out, into their car might be a little much.
I've got to try.
I went up to the door and rang the doorbell. One of her kids came to the door, pulled back the curtain and peered through the window. The kid was just tall enough to look Ginger straight in the eyes. The kids screamed and jumped back. I waited a couple more minutes. No one came to the door again, so I rang a second time. There was a bit of commotion before the mother, the woman from work, opened the door.
"What the --?"
"My bosses dog. I think she's dying. I need to get to the vet. Could you please give me a ride?"
"It looks like the dog's dead."
"I hope not. I just started working here and --"
"Yeah. I know. I've seen you around."
"Could you please give me a ride to the vet?"
"I guess. If you really need to."
"I don't want her to die."
"I think she's already dead. Look how her head is hanging down and her tongue is hanging out --"
"We've got to give it a try. Please?"
"Ok. What about these dogs?"
"I don't know. Could I leave them here?"
"Sure. I'll have my kids watch them. They love dogs."
"Oh. Sorry about scaring your son like that."
"Yeah. He said he thought someone was pranking us with a dog ringing the bell."
We found a shower curtain and lay it down int he back seat then put Ginger's soiled body atop it and drove to the vet. Luckily the vet was in doing some paperwork on his day off. He wasn't going to respond to the knock at the door, but the floating dog head at the door trick wooed him.
"I just took my bosses dog for a walk and it fell over. I think it's sick."
"Sorry, but she looks dead to me."
"Can you check? Please?"
He pulled out a stethoscope pressed it to Ginger's chest for a second or two before announcing, "Yep. She's dead."
"Dead? There's nothing we can do?" I know dead is dead, but for some reason I asked. I expected a "no" answer, but he mistook my question for childish hope he would pull some Jesus maneuver and raise Ginger from the dead. And he didn't want to let me down. He took out a little doggy oxygen mask and placed it over Ginger's non-existent muzzle. He pumped her chest. He listened with the stethoscope as I and the woman, whose name I never got, I had dragged into the tragedy watched on.
I realized he was doing it all for my benefit. There was no hope over Ginger akwardly chasing anyone around the yard again. I said, "She doesn't seem to be responding."
"Nope, she isn't." he said as he put away all the equipment. "You said you're not the owner?"
"No. My boss is."
"Well, we'll have to ask him what to do with her."
"He's out of town right now. He'll be back later today."
"Well, I'll put her in the freezer until he lets me know what to do with her."
"I'll have him call you as soon as possible."
I went home and called up my boss. "Hey. I came home early. Where were you? I stopped by your house to pick Ginger up but you weren't there."
"I was probably walking over to meet you at the park. But listen, there's something I have to tell you about Ginger. --"
These are the things I think about on my way to work.
Posted by calculatoronfire at January 19, 2005 01:14 PM