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Chapter 4
This was awful! To avoid being detected
by animal control, Missy, Tyler and Grady decided to go down a
seldom trod walking path that ran along a creek. It was seldom
trod, all right—branches, sticker bushes, brush everywhere!
It was more like trekking the Australian Outback without a machete.
As they struggled down the path, the moments seemed to drag on
forever. Tucker's breath became more shallow as each second ticked
and it seemed hopeless that he would survive the vicious attack
that happened just precious minutes earlier.
"Hurry up!" Grady pleaded. "That's my baby brother that's dying
there. We've got to get him home to Mom! Please, bubby...run faster!"
Tyler darted him a look, but couldn't say anything  since
Tucker was in his mouth. Missy responded instead.
"Grady, I know you're upset, but we're going as fast as we can! If we take
the main routes, the dog catcher might see us and we'd all get picked
up," And you know what they will do to Tucker if he's hurt . . . "
The ragtag group of animals, at the moment consisted of Missy, who was furiously
running underneath Tucker, lest he be dropped; Tyler, with Tucker firmly gripped
in his mouth; and Grady, who was simply beside himself with grief. Missy and
Reno had caught up with Tyler and Grady a few minutes after their initial departure,
but Reno decided the thugs that jumped him during Tucker's rescue had done
a little more damage than initially thought, so he headed home to recuperate.
The gang's mission was to get Tucker home so their Mom could rush him to the
vet before he died. And right now, hope was looking pretty slim on both counts.
Tyler slowed and finally stopped. Gently, he laid Tucker on the ground.
Panting, he said, "Look, guys . . . I'm afraid he's dying. I can
feel his breath rattling in his chest with each step that I take . .
. the running is doing as much  damage
to him as those damn dogs did! We're just not going to make it home in time.
We've got to stop running and someone has to go get Mom . . . bring
her here. He won't make it if I keep running with him."
Grady jumped up; a bright sparkle
in his tear-stained eyes.
"I'll go! I can bring Mom here. Please, bubby . . . let me go!"
"All right, Grady. Are you sure you remember how to get home from here?" Tyler
asked.
"Yes, I swear . . . I promise I do. I'll get Mom!" Grady anxiously replied.
He was so nervous and consumed with grief, that he bounced from paw to paw, making
little dust tornadoes.
"Okay, buddy . . . go. Get Mom and get back here on the double!"
With that, Grady took off in a cloud of dust. Missy didn't think she'd ever
seen him run so fast. Amazing what panic and fear can do to an animal.
"Tyler, do you really think he'll make it in time? I hate to say it, but
Tucker is really looking bad," she said.
"Missy, I wish I knew. I'm afraid one of his attackers may have broken something
inside. I don't really know what's wrong with him, but he's in bad shape."
"Why don't I kind of check him out? You know, nuzzle around a bit as  gently as I can and see if I
can find a puncture of something? What do you think, big guy?" she suggested.
Tyler looked pensive for a moment as he mulled the idea over. "All
right, Missy. Just be careful him."
With extreme care, and under the watchful eye of Tyler, Missy approached Tucker's
mangled body. His fur was matted with saliva where the mutts had him in their
mouths, pulling him like taffy; drying blood seemed to be everywhere with a
tiny stream trickling down his nose. His breath was shallow and his eyes fluttering,
like they were caught in an unimaginable nightmare. Tucker was dying.
Gently, Missy began to lick a swollen area under and around his left arm. The
godawful taste of another dog's saliva mixed with blood nearly made her gag,
but she kept up the cleaning. What seemed an interminable amount of time, she
finally felt a ragged piece of flesh. Gagging, she stopped and turned to Tyler.
"Tyler, I found it! He's got a terrible wound that's seeping under his left
arm and there's a huge knot on top of the arm! What should we do?"
"We've got to stop the bleeding somehow. Dammit, Missy . . . I'm a guard
dog, not a doctor! I don't know what in the hell to do!"
Missy had never seen Tyler like this. He was always so calm, dignified; always
in control of everything. He  was beside
himself with grief over this little cat. A cat! She couldn't believe she was
actually witnessing this!
Head cocked, her little mind began to whirl with ideas. "Well, we
need some mud. That would do it. I watch Reno roll around in the backyard
all the time when he's hot, rolling in the dirt. And if we just had a
little water from the creek to add to the dirt around here, we'd be in
business. But I don't know what in the heck we'll carry the water with."
Tyler searched the horizon. Instantly, he focused on what appeared to be a
trash pile nearby. Taking off at top speed, he headed towards it.
"I'll be right back," he tossed over his shoulder. "I think I
might have found something."
Missy continued her healing inspection, licking here, cleaning there. She knew
it couldn't be possible, but Tucker actually seemed to be calming somehow.
Maybe, somewhere in that nightmare he was trapped in, he knew they were trying
to save him.
Moments later, Tyler returned with the handle of a bright green bucket in his
mouth, struggling not to spill the water inside.
"How—?!"
"No time to explain. Just do what it is you need to do," Tyler wheezed.
He was in great shape, but a bucket full of water was heavy!
Missy sprang into action! Digging furiously, she dislodged as much dirt as
she possibly could, jumped up on the bucket, dipped her little muzzle in and
took a long drink. Without hesitation, she spit out the water on the dirt next
to her, and started stomping through it. Over and over she did this. Drink.
Spit. Stomp.
Drink. Spit. Stomp. With eyes wide, Tyler watched the spectacle. The little
rat terrier amazed him. She was truly something.
Within minutes, Missy had a nice little mud hole going. Satisfied it would
be enough, she nodded towards Tyler.
"Okay, big guy. Now it's your turn," she said. "We need to move
Tucker into the sunshine, then I need you to get a big glob of mud on your paw
and put it on Tucker's wound."
"Why the sun? Won't it be bad for him?"
"No," Missy reassured him. "The sun will help the mud to dry,
forming a seal over the wound, and God willing, stop the bleeding."
Tyler was amazed. He never knew Missy was so smart! For all he ever knew,
all she did was bark at the mailman constantly. "Mailman, mailman
. . . come to kill us all!" That was her mantra.
Doing her bidding, Tyler gently moved Tucker into the sun, then trotted over
to the newly formed mud hole. With absolute disgust, he stuck his right paw
into the mud and did a little three-legged hop back to Tucker. Grady might
enjoy getting muddy, but Tyler was quite appalled at being so . . . dirty!
It was icky!
"All right. Put it right here and then I'll gently tap it into place," Missy
instructed.
Within moments, the "mutt-and-jeff" team had formed a mud bandage
over Tucker's wound. Exhausted with their efforts, they sat back on their haunches,
praying for the sun to do its magic.
Turning towards Tyler, Missy looked up, Tyler looked down. The look they shared
said it all . . .
Now we wait.
To be continued...
Chapters | The
Dog House
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