No good deed…


It’s no secret that Jack Russells have got no peripheral vision.  Actually, if we’re completely honest, they have no vision at all unless a ball enters their line of sight.  It’s thanks to this fact that I received a gentle ABS-induced foot massage as one of these tiny white-and-brown, essentially blind, speed-balls ran in front of my car.

Emulating the dog, I jumped into the on-coming traffic.  Using my gentlest baby-is-sleeping voice, coupled with a set of distant-mustachioed-aunty-coming-in-for-a-kiss pursed lips to indicate my intentions, I managed to make contact.  My reward was what felt like a several swift fork stabs to the hand.  Resisting the urge to drop-kick it back into the road, by the time we’d settled in the car we were friends.  Those baby brown eyes and general aliveness made up for my now bleeding appendages.

We had a lovely morning together at the office.  We spent time weaving Jack Russell hair into the carpets and desk chairs, shared a bowl of oats and played “would you like a dog?” with each person who arrived at the office.  Unfortunately dog-sitting is not part of my official job description, so it was off to the vet to start the search for her parents.

With the dog now in the custody of responsible adults it was time to seek medical attention for myself.  Being familiar with the equation animal bite = tetanus injection, imagine my dismay when the ER doctor told me that with no medical history available for the dog, a Rabies treatment was a requirement.  She painted a picture that reminded me of an episode of Criminal Minds in which a serial killer murdered his victims by infecting them with Rabies.  I had vivid flashbacks of how these hapless people were reduced to something resembling mouth-foaming colour-versions of the girl from The Ring.

A Rabies preventative treatment is a long and costly exercise involving 5 painful, side effect riddled injections over the course of a month.  On the up-side the vaccine lasts for 3 years and stray dog rescue is now safe until 2021.    The doctor was not amused by this comment.  “Humour” is evidently not a compulsory subject when studying to be an MD and apparently trying to lighten the mood in an ER is frowned upon.

My mood was pretty jovial until I got the bill.  I can see why ER’s are sad, depressing places void of any laughter and happiness.

Although it is true that no good deed goes unpunished, the story does at least end well for the dog.  It turns out that her name is Lulu and she was returned to her humans that same afternoon.

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