THE LITTLE DACHSHUND LOOKED SO FORLORN sitting in the shade all alone. It looked as if it were going to cry, if dogs could shed tears. Normally cute little Harley greets me with loud barking and bared teeth while snarling maniacally, the result of too many school children teasing him in his younger days.
Fortunately for me and all of Johnson City’s humanity, my mechanic keeps the miniature monster in a dog kennel so as not to kill any errant raccoons. Or mountain lions. I asked Mechanic Tim why his darling little vicious pet was so depressed. “Well, he was running across our lawn the other day and his back legs stepped into a hole. Now both are paralyzed.”
Poor thing. He had been this way for several days and did not look like he was going to improve any time soon.
According to the website, Weiner Woman:
Back problems, most commonly Canine Intervertebral Disc Disease, are pervasive in Dachshunds, occurring in approximately 1 in 4 worldwide. Time is of the essence. The difference between full recovery and no recovery in many acute back injuries is often the window of time in which the injury has been treated. If your dog has lost bladder or bowel control and/or is dragging its hind legs, it is crucial that your dog be seen by an orthopedic specialist as soon as possible. Within 12 hours, Deep Pain Sensation can begin to diminish; once it is gone, it cannot be recovered.
So sad. Harley had been this way for several days and did not look like he was going to improve any time soon. Tim is a skilled craftsman though. He proudly attached a little wheeled contraption to Ole Harve so he could drape his hind legs over a bar in the back and still walk around with his two front legs.
The Bible says that “the earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and produces wonderful results.” Being a man of prayer I thought I would ask God to do something for this pitiful puppy. I walked on over and laid my right hand on the center of his back and beseeched the Lord for his healing power to be evident so that the crazy canine might walk again.
Right at my “Amen,” the stinkin’ dog whipped around with a vengeance and nearly snapped its yellow blood-stained teeth into my calf. I jerked away just in time, before he tore my precious leg skin. But it wasn’t over. The wicked wienie chased me around Tim’s yard, snapping and chomping at me like a land-based Great White, all the while pulling his handy little wheelie-thingy right behind him, front legs pumping furiously. I ran faster than a Milk-Bone mailman as it yipped at my heels; the pitiful paralytic piranha pursuing pastor pronto! Thankfully mechanic Tim mercifully grabbed him and took him in the house.
I went to my chiropractor.
I wrenched my back when I narrowly escaped the jaws of death from that hound of Hell. And pulled a ligament in my groin.
A few days later Tim informed me that one of Harvey’s legs were working. After a week, both had fully recovered.
I still walk with a slight limp. Dog-gone it!