I think I’ve made it abundantly clear that I am a crazy dog lady. I even have a shirt that says so, a thoughtful gift from a fellow dog junkie. I watch all the dog videos. I laugh at the dog shamings. I am an unabashed dog pusher who tries to 
turn others into crazy dog people, whenever possible. I tag people who need a dog (or another dog) on Facebook posts of pooches who would clearly be their perfect match. I show people my dogs’ photos about as much as I show them pictures of my kids. OK, that’s not entirely true. I probably show dog pictures more often.
It is, therefore, not surprising that I have three dogs in my not-big-enough-for-three-dogs house. I spend way too much time dealing with their unique personalities and/or batshit crazy behavior. Which one doesn’t like his kibble unless it has a splash of olive oil? Which one has to be crated every time you even think about leaving the room because he will eat all the things (particularly the non-edible things and specifically, plastic)? Which one acts like he’s going to kill the mail carrier but is really terrified of everything, including the fish in the fishtank?
They are big and dirty. They have horrible breath. Really terrible, bring tears to your eyes, breath because they sneak the cat food and also, lick their own butts. They bark at women with baby strollers as they pass our house, scaring small children and making them cry. They track mud all over my house and will not let you bend down, at any time, without licking your face like a lollipop. Remember, they lick their own butts, so this is not preferable.
And yet, I adore every one of them. They are silly and goofy. Every time I walk in the door, I am greeted to a queen’s welcome, if a queen’s welcome includes getting jumped on and whined at. They follow me from room to room, guarding me from all the dangers. When I finish a workout, they still want to kiss me and are not fazed by my sweaty self or my terrifyingly mismatched outfit. They don’t care if I gain weight or lose it, wear makeup, brush my hair or wear flannel pajama pants all day. (If there’s nowhere to go, why put on real clothes?) And for all of this unconditional love, they want nothing in return except long belly rubs and biscuits. Also, they would prefer to keep all their body parts.
The neutering happened to them before I came along, so I don’t have to take the blame for that bit of (very necessary) indignity. But I can’t say the same for the last three inches of tail that my oldest guy used to call his own. Used to. Now? Not so much.
I’ve shared my house with dogs for a lot of years and therefore have lived through one or two injuries. Broken nails are a popular and messy aggravation. Though it does not seem to cause them much pain, you can always find the victim by following the bloody dots throughout the house, like a macabre Hansel and Gretel scene.
We’ve seen nipped ears from doggy wrestling matches that got a little too exciting, and assorted cuts and scratches from close encounters with the feline kind. But for pretty much all of these, I was able to find a home remedy that soothed the savage beast and moved on without much fuss. So I was a little surprised when my oldest beast suffered one of the most common pet injuries and consequently, turned my house into a blood bath that would have made Norman Bates proud.
It was one of those windy days that can catch you by surprise with an occasional strong gust. And it was just such a gust that happened to come along when my daughter was trying to let the dog back in the house. This inopportune combination of events led to our metal storm door breaking free of her control. It quickly slammed shut, right onto the end of his cute brown tail.
However, the injury was not immediately apparent. In fact, he yipped but never even slowed his stride. I asked what had made him cry, but the child didn’t seem to know and it was quickly forgotten. While I worked at my computer, the dog lay faithfully by my feet. About and hour later, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed he was licking his tail. Then I noticed that, where before he had a lovely tuft of brown fur, he now had a bloody stump.
As disturbing as this was, there was very little blood. So I did what any dog mom would do and found an old sock and some medical tape and covered it up. He seemed completely unfazed. Other than perhaps disapproving of the pink and white ankle sock that I procured from the basket of socks-with-no-match, he took it like a champ.
So I wasn’t worried when I had to run out of the house for a few minutes. And I didn’t need to be. He endured my absence by resting comfortably on the couch. Then I returned home and he ran into the kitchen, excited to see me. With great gusto, he wagged his injured tail and slapped it in right into the cabinet door.
The too-short sock came flying off and the injured tail began to spurt like a new bottle of ketchup. As I ran towards my pup, trying to use my calmest, most loving voice, his excitement increased and he really started wagging with vigor.
When I reached him, without a towel or a plan, he quickly submitted and rolled onto his back, thwapping the maimed stump onto the floor, leaving a pool of blood with each happy slap.
I remembered that baking soda can be used to plug up a bloody injury. It had been very effective only a few weeks prior when our puppy lost half of his nail in the snow. My daughter responded quickly to my request for help and I hopefully poured a whole bunch onto his tail. Unfortunately, the injury did not respond to this treatment. Instead, it added baking soda, now wet with blood and pasty, to the puddles of blood on my kitchen floor.
Through a series of mishaps that included yelling and near hysteria, we were able to cover the tail up and get the old man resting comfortably in his bed. I noticed that he was pretty heavily marked with his own blood; his ears, paws and even his back has splotches. But, he would have to wait. I had bigger fish to fry.
I took a deep breath and turned around to face my kitchen.
If you haven’t already imagined the scene, let me help. It was like someone took a bag of blood and poured in into the back of an industrial fan. On high.
Aside from the pools of blood on the floor, that my daughter had stepped in and was now tracking around, there were splatters of blood on the floor, the cabinets, the tile backsplash, the stove (front and top), the refrigerator, the dishwasher, the sink, my purse, my coat (remember, I had just walked in the door when the massacre began) my hands, and, to complete the horror-movie scene, my face.
It took nearly an hour to clean up the mess and for several hours after, we kept finding blood splatters here and there, including on the other dogs.
During the initial carnage, I was so happy to just get his tail covered that I never really examined the injury closely. When my husband arrived home, long after the vet had closed for the evening, we removed the covering and had a good look. And there was a bare, doggy tail bone, looking right back at us.
First, I’d like to say, eww. It was gross. Second, my pup’s calm demeanor was somewhat disturbing. I mean, I’ve never had any of my bones exposed to the air – unless I was under some pretty hardcore anesthesia – but I imagine it has to hurt. Like, a lot. And yet, he had clearly spent a good amount of time wagging it into all parts of my kitchen, without so much as a whimper.
Even after the surgery that lopped off that pesky exposed bone, he remained calm and never so much as looked at his less-than-full-length appendage. My husband could learn a thing or two for the next time his nose is stuffed up and he feels the need to whine painfully and then blame God and all of his disciples for this terrible misfortune.
What I learned here was how amazingly quickly blood dries. And how much harder it is to clean up dry blood than wet blood. I lost a good portion of my morning to the scrubbing, wiping and disinfecting. I recommend keeping these type of messes to the evening hours so it’s more socially acceptable when you start drinking immediately after. Or during. Who am I to judge?
If your pet is injured, you should take him/her to the vet. However, if he/she doesn’t need professional medical care, petmd.com has some great tips for home remedies that can make your pet more comfortable. And maybe even keep you sane, for at least one more day.
Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about her family, her community, and natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street.
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