A simple walk on a sunny February afternoon turned really quickly into a total friggin nightmare. Yesterday, Jeter and I had ambled down the yellow brick road under blue skies for a slow walk around the Normanskill Farm. My Achilles’ tendon has been acting up and my speed was slowed to a true stroll, not a problem on a beautiful day.
Especially with a massage therapy appointment coming up in a few days.
In a happy coincidence of timing, we encountered a woman, S, I have both worked with locally and hung out with in Wellfleet. She and I took the full loop around the field catching up while walking carefully on the crusty, and often icy, snow.
And that is when our idyllic afternoon ended.
Eventually, she and I went in opposite directions, she to meet her partner at the dog park and Jeter and I heading back towards home. I released Jeter from the leash and he ran ahead of me chasing imaginary threats and crunchy sticks.
Great.
As I walked with caution, Jeter gnawed his found stick with abandon. I distinctly recall telling him not to eat that stick, but, like the rest of the males I’ve raised, he apparently didn’t heed my warning because the next thing I knew a woman with a dog shouted over to me that she thought my dog was choking.
I spun around and saw that Jeter did, in fact, seem to be struggling. He wasn’t gasping, but he definitely had something going on. My first impulse was to root around in his mouth and I went all in reaching in with my entire hand and rifling about. Nothing.
I began to get more anxious. I’ve never been good in medical situations, regardless of whether it’s one of my kids or a pet. It’s just beyond my level of comfort – plus, my older brother is the doctor in my family. I’m the writer who dresses well, remember?
At this point, the woman who had initially noticed the issue was still nearby and kindly offering support. Jeter was becoming a bit more distressed, probably responding to my panic. I started trying to Heimlich him, sort of straddling him and compressing his barrel of a chest. Still, nothing, beyond some phlegm.
A family on the nearby dirt road had just gotten into their car and we shouted to them hoping for some assistance. I didn’t have a phone or a car with me and I couldn’t imagine how I would get Jeter medical attention. I started crying. This crisis felt like it had been going on for a very long time and I was growing concerned that I would lose my constant companion.
The man from the car came over to help, but we had no success expelling the stick Jeter was choking on. It was horrifying.
The three of us determined that Jeter needed to get to the vet – pronto.
As I was trying to figure out how to manage that feat, my walking friend, S, and her guy, L, came into view. I shouted to them, thinking maybe Jeter and I could catch a ride to my house so I could get my car and drive to the nearest vet’s office.
Thank goodness for people, unlike me, who have the ability to remain calm in emergency situations. In response to my hysteria, L approached Jeter and asked me to open the dog’s mouth so he could look into it and assess the problem. One glance was all it took for L to see what was causing my dog’s discomfort.
Calmly, L, told me to open Jeter’s mouth again. He reached in and pulled out a 2.5” twig which had lodged itself in the back of the dog’s mouth. Jeter immediately relaxed and we both started to once again breathe normally. Emergency over, thanks to the level headedness of good people in the right place, at the right time.
Covid be damned, hugs were exchanged.
I gathered up my gloves, hat and camera, all abandoned in the heat of the moment, and Jeter and I made our way back up the hill towards home. I noticed my Achilles’ tendon was no longer bothering me. Instead, oddly, my throat felt suddenly scratchy causing me to cough repeatedly. Some sort of weird sympathy pain, I suppose.
As I attempted to clear my own throat, I noticed Jeter looking up at me. I reached my hand down to pat him and he gently licked my hand, something he’s not really known for doing very often.
Swallowing, I wiped away my tears and Jeter and I climbed the yellow brick road to home.
