I’ve never been so happy to see a dog. I knelt down and hugged him, only to discover he was bleeding, pretty bad. The bear must have bitten or scratched him across the shoulder, and I could see that he needed stitches.
Adrian seemed to be in shock.
Something kicked in for me, and I felt utterly calm.
I looked for the backpack that had been on Adrian’s shoulders, but it must have been left behind. We needed bandage, big enough to wrap around Cujo’s shoulder to slow the bleeding.
I took off my shirt and ripped off the lower portion to create a wrap. While I tied a knot in the fabric to secure the makeshift bandage, Cujo licked my hand.
“You’re going to be fine,” I said gently. “You’re a tough old bugger, and this is just a scratch.”
I got everything tied up as tight as I could, and stood there trying to figure out the best way to carry the dog, who seemed to be getting weaker on his feet by the minute. His tail was drooping, and his eyes had lost their brightness.
“I don’t know if I can carry him the whole way back,” I said.
Adrian finally moved, kneeling down and scooping up the dog in his strong arms. “I got him,” he murmured. “Can you get us back on the trail?”
“Of course,” I said. “The trail is this way.” I pointed to one of the trail markers, and we were off. I led the way, turning back periodically with encouragement for Cujo, who was still conscious, but just barely.
~
We called Golden from the car, and she was waiting at the veterinarian’s clinic when we pulled into the parking lot. She’d called her boss, and the older woman who was the veterinarian arrived at the same time we did.
The two of them took a limp but breathing Cujo into the back and left us waiting in the front area.
Both of us stood so we didn’t get blood on the upholstered seats.
I kept apologizing to Adrian, who insisted I hadn’t done anything wrong, then started apologizing to me.
“I shouldn’t have taken you all the way out there,” he said, his face grim and eyes glistening.
“No, it’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. That’s me. I get caught up in my head, and my eyes are open, but I don’t see what’s obvious. I’m so stupid. And now poor Cujo, that brave little man…”
Adrian put his arms around me and rested his chin on top of my head. “He’ll be fine. They’re still in there, and no news is good news. And if he’s not fine, everyone at the station will be so proud he was such a hero—” Adrian’s voice pinched off with emotion.
I squeezed my arms tighter around his body.
The sun was gone, and nobody had turned on the lights in the waiting room, so we were in the dark. I could have looked around for a light switch, but the dark seemed soothing.
We stood holding each other, listening for sounds from the adjoining room. The veterinarian and Golden were speaking to each other with urgency, but not panic.
After an unbearable wait of one hour, the veterinarian came out smiling. “He’s resting,” she said. “We put him out so he wouldn’t hurt himself while his body begins the repair.”
“How many stitches?” Adrian asked.
“Not too many.” Her voice pitched up high, the way it does when people lie.
Adrian started to wobble next to me, and as the veterinarian gave us a few more details, his responses were delayed and groggy. I steered him over to the one wooden chair in the room and forced him to sit down.
He wanted to take Cujo home, but they insisted he stay overnight so they could keep an eye on him. The vet lived nearby, and had cameras set up in the recovery cages for remote monitoring.
“We’ll take great care of Mr. Cujo Fluffypants,” Golden said chirpily. “And tomorrow you can take him home wearing the Cone of Shame, so he doesn’t chew out those itchy stitches.”
Adrian still looked stunned. “Cone of Shame?”
She explained about the plastic cone dogs and cats wear around their collar so they don’t lick their stitches after surgery.
I ran out to the car to get my purse, which I’d left under the seat during our excursion. I caught a look at myself in the car window’s reflection and gasped at the sight of my bare stomach. Half my shirt had been used as a makeshift bandage/sling, and I’d slipped back on the remaining half, which barely covered my bra. This was not my finest fashion moment, but at least everyone was still alive.
I came back into the clinic to find Golden standing next to Adrian, who was still on the wooden chair, having his hair stroked by the tiny blonde.
Conflicting emotions battled within me as I dug around in my purse for chocolate to give Adrian.
“Not hungry,” he said as I thrust an unwrapped chunk his way.