A few weeks ago we started a new family tradition called Sunday 5k. Every Sunday morning as soon as we get up, we strap a leash on Bella and run 2.5k in one direction and then run back home.
Last weekend we were walking home when I realized that Bella’s paws were all red.
I once dog-sat for a family who told me that they exercised their dogs by throwing a ball up a paved road and the dogs would chase after it and then return it, and repeat. And then she very casually told me to be careful because they would play until their paws bled.
So, of course, I immediately thought of that and my face melted off and I died.
We got her upstairs into the bath tub and determined that two toenails on her front paw had been broken to the quick and the rest was just blood splatter and white fur. This revived me slightly.
We made a bandage for her (first attempt: sandwich bag, balled up paper towel, medical tape) which she tested by running around the house making a squelching plastic-y plop with each step. The poorly applied bandage fell off and she was still spurting blood everywhere she went – all over the carpets.
We finally re-captured her and tried a new attempt: toilet paper, Saran Wrap, medical tape and thanks to Chad’s parents – that goop for when you cut your dogs’ toenails too short and they won’t stop bleeding. This seemed to work. Bella let me hold her on her back so I could elevate her bleeding paw (I have no idea if this did anything but it definitely made ME feel better).
While Chad was cleaning and I was elevating the paw, I snapped some pics of the massacre to send to one of our friends (who shall remain nameless) who threw up all over living room rug after having a little too much to drink at a nearby bar.
He is still a little embarrassed about it.
So, you know, I think I made him feel better:
Bella finally realized that she was getting a lot of attention and started playing the part of the poor little wounded dog. This also might have had something to do with the blood loss. For some reason she didn’t attempt chewing off her bandage – so we didn’t have to resort to drastic measures (I don’t know, a cone? The apocalypse?).
And then we proceeded to have a somewhat uneventful day. Which, as usual, involves putting a precise hole into a dog toy and removing it’s squeaky heart. We call this procedure a squeak-ectomy.
So, I think she is going to make it.