Posts Tagged ‘ dog trauma ’

Butterscotch Tales Part 1 of 2

***Warning… though animals were hurt during the events described in this blog post, any death or dismemberment was purely accidental.***

My father is a grand story-teller and growing up with him instilled in me the desire to take seemingly innocuous events and turn them into something fabulous.  So, following in his footsteps, I will tell you the sad tale of Butterscotch the dog as it’s the one true story that kids are always asking me to repeat.

Butterscotch was a blonde lab and she was purchased for my perfect little brother Justin when he was just a wee thing.  I wasn’t allowed to have a ‘real’ pet because I wasn’t loved or special enough; instead having to be satisfied with mangy barn cats, tadpoles and skunks.

Several years after Butterscotch became part of the family, I happened to be old enough to watch my brother while our parents took trips up North to remote locations like Shirley Mills, and Mattagammon.  The first weekend they planned to go away they decided that my boyfriend, Mike, should stay over just in case anything happened.  Mike was about seven years older than me; a responsible adult.

Justin was in our parents room on the bed horsing around with the dog and she was getting pretty wound up.  I walked in to watch all the commotion when Justin sort of fell off the bed, dragging the dog – attached to his ear – with him.  They both fell into a heap, him screaming, her play fighting, blood spurting from his wounded lobe.

I don’t like injuries, or blood for that matter.  It freaks me out and I turn into a spaz.  I thought that Justin’s ear had been torn in half and I began to scream bloody murder until Mike came in and put a towel on it.  My biggest fear was having to explain to my parents how just a few hours after they leave, that their prodigal son was mamed by his best friend.

Around the next summer, Justin, Butterscotch and I were out on the front lawn playing.  The game objective was to toss a stick from one person to the other and have Butterscoth chase it or get it before us.  She was pretty fast and during a particularly powerful toss of the smooth pine branch, she beat feet to its landing spot, arriving just before it hit the ground.  The problem was that her mouth and head were directly over the stick and though it hit the soft grass of the lawn, the soil was packed hard enough to induce a good bounce.  So, with mouth wide open the stick rebounded into Butterscotch’s mouth.  Her head came down and the stick lodged deep into her throat.  We stared at her for a few seconds trying to decide if she was hurt or not.  She coughed and slatted her head to and fro.  Lowered her head, extending her neck, she coughed again more violently.  No stick came out.  But blood did.

“Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmm!”

And that’s the story of how Butterscotch had her tonsilectomy.  As it turns out, the stick had ruptured her tonsil as well as lodged side-to-side in her throat.  Minor surgery and a few stitches got her back on her feet quickly.

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Next summer, Butterscotch went into heat just before the parent’s planned trip.  My mother’s last words were, “Whatever you do, DON”T let this goddamned dog out of this house!”

don’t let the dog out

don’t let the dog out

don’t let the dog out

“Oh, hey Mike! Sure, I’d love to watch a movie tonight!”  I said as I leaned up against the doorframe.   The sensation of fur rubbing across my lower legs didn’t even register as Butterscotch stealthily slipped outside.

About an hour later I thought about my mother.  It might have been guilt or something, who knows – afterall I was on the couch watching a movie making out with my much older boyfriend.  Mike left and the though of Mom lingered.  Oh fuck! Butterscotch!

Grabbing my car keys I dashed out the back door hoping that it wasn’t too late when I found her.  I knew where she’d gone – earlier in the week she’d been determined to get out on the pit road and that’s where I began my search.  The Cross Road, as it’s formally named, is a dirt road that leads to our family gravel pit as well as the back 400 ( I would say forty but I think this figure is more accurate).  The road entrance isn’t even 200 feet from my parent’s driveway so I was able to get on the scent trail fast.  No sooner did I crest the first small knoll did I see her.

Butterscotch was lying flat on the ground.  That part didn’t bother me so much, if it weren’t for the fact that the dirty little whore was in that position because she had chosen to get it on with a dog 1/4 of her size.  Saddled up on her ass end was this grizzly-gray, unkempt Schnauzer type dog, struggling to stand on his hind legs and still keep his dick up high enough to gain entry.  He was hopping and humping and pumping and…

“What the fuck you nasty fucking…God DAMN it!” I exclaimed as I scooped up the still humping male dog, throwing  him into my back seat.  Butterscotch cowered down as I grabbed her by the scruff and tossed her in the front of my car.

My first destination was the Colgan’s house where I deposited their horny, mangy canine as I shouted expletives towards their house.   Luckily they lived just down the road so it wasn’t long before I got Butterscotch back to the house.

“What am I going to do?” I kept asking myself.  Her hind end was slimy with evidence of her whoremongering.  Because I felt like puking every time I looked at her twat, I dragged her out front and started hozing her down.  As I was scrubbing the scum off her I wondered if a good douching would prevent any unwanted pregnancy.  Without hesitation I turned the hose on her cooch. Doggy douching, hahahaha!

Butterscotch never left the house again that weekend, nor did she end up with any little mutts for me to exlain away! Thank god!

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