I didn't want to bore everyone by posting the whole saga again, but since you asked!!Originally Posted by Dr.Goodnow
On February 21, 2004, Stuart and I were helping out at a local sprint dogsledding race. Hobo was not our dog at the time. He belonged to a very competitive sprint musher who was racing that weekend. He was here from BC and didn't have a handler so we were helping him out. On the second day of the race, Jim took his eyes off the trail for a split second to drop his drag mat before the team headed down a hill. Somehow in that instant, he hit a tree. The dogs were all past the tree, the sled and Jim didn't make it. He shattered his pelvis. He couldn't be moved. The ambulance came to him; another racer stopped his own race and drove Jim's team back to his truck. Jim wouldn't get in the ambulance until he knew what was going on with his dogs. So Stuart said we'd take them to our place.
That evening we fed and water all his dogs. He had 14 dogs travelling with him. They were on tethers in front of our shop. We didn't have the full perimetre fence up yet and there were no open spots in any pens. We didn't even know most of the dogs' names, let alone who could run loose with who!
We went to the hospital to tell Jim his dogs were ok. On the way home, we stopped at yet another musher's house to pick up some straw. Mushers are a generally tight knit community and several donated supplies to Jim's dogs. When we got there, this guy asked if we were missing a brown and white dog. Still another musher had just called to say his neighbor had found a brown and white sled dog who had been chewed on by a wolf. The dog had run into his walk out basement door and was cowering there. He had taken it in and was doing what he could to find the owner. There had been several incidents of wolves killing dogs that winter; it happens every winter around here. Usually the wolves take loose dogs and try to avoid coming into a busy, well-lit yard like ours. They were extra hungry that winter.
We weren't concerned as we didn't have any dogs matching that description. Until we pulled back into our yard and realized that there were only 13 of Jim's dogs and one was bleeding profusely. Every other one was completely freaked out. Little Toes was under the dog truck and refused to come out for the next three days! So Stuart went to pick up the injured dog and I got the other one, Diesel, ready for a trip to the vet.
For days our vet wouldn't even give us odds on their survival. Diesel had less serious injuries, but his belly had been ripped open. Hobo has open from his rib cage back to his butt. He was missing huge chunks of skin that were so wide they couldn't be sutured shut. All the muscles supporting his tail and rectum were ripped. Our vet was absolutely sure that Hobo would never have bowel control again.
Telling Jim what happened was the least pleasant conversation I've ever had. Fortunately, he was on a morphine drip and the drugs cushioned the news! He was great about it! A week later, when he was able to be transfered to a hospital closer to his home, he tried to pay us for the vet bill. We refused and he asked if we would like to keep Hobo. He had planned to retire him at the end of that season anyway and at that point, it was doubtful Hobo would ever pull again. Of course we agreed to keep him.
It took over six months of daily intensive care to get Hobo back on his feet. He had wounds that just wouldn't close, until a holistic vet suggested sugar packing them. For three weeks we packed his wounds with sugar every day and they finally healed. His fur has never come back in some of those spots. He got a bone infection in his front leg that almost led to an amputation. He had drains that had to be flushed several times a day, many pills to get popped down his throat. I was a stranger to Hobo at the time, but every time I came in to see him, he would try to stand, greet me with a woo. He had to be miserable and in pain, but he always looked happy to see me. He never nipped; he never growled. He accepted that I was trying to help him.
Seven months later, Hobo returned to the harness with much enthusiasm. He still pulls like a lunatic. He does have some issues from the attack. He will not sleep outside. He panics in the dark and likes to stay close to the house if he has to go out. He can't stay out for too long in cold temps as his scars are prone to frostbite. But he is happy and beyond silly. He makes me laugh everyday. Diesel and Jim also made full recoveries and have been back to visit Hobo a couple times.
I believe everything that happened to Hobo had a purpose. It was the start of a miserable month around here. Exactly a week later, Hoodoo died very suddenly and with no warning. The dogs all got kennel cough a week or so after that. Taking care of Hobo gave me something else to focus on. I wanted to curl up and cry for days; I was devastated by Hoodoo's death, but I couldn't fall apart. Hobo needed me. I wish he'd been able to known Hoodoo. Hoodoo was also a goofy, silly dog. They would have made quite a pair.
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