42. Madison
42
MADISON
The sharp, guttural growl splits through the air before I even realize what’s happening. One moment, I’m setting down the coffee I barely had time to drink this morning, and the next, I hear a yelp so loud it makes my blood run cold.
Panic grips me as I run out of my bedroom to see what’s happening in the living room. Chico, a dog that is part lab, is going at Samson.
I see flashes of teeth and growls, and then it’s like the picture focuses in my mind, and I can see exactly what’s happening. My sweet, gentle Samson is pinned beneath Chico. He’s growled at Samson before, but this is no growl. His teeth are buried in Samson’s neck.
Samson yelps as he wiggles and tries to get free.
I stop thinking then. I just act.
I grab a thick book from a nearby table.
“Stop it! No! Get off him!” I scream.
I beat at Chico’s back with the book, scared that he’ll turn and come at me but not sure what else I can do. If I try to pull him off without him opening his jaw, he could do serious damage.
Samson’s yelps increase in volume, and tears start to stream down my cheeks as I bring the book down especially hard on Chico’s back.
Chico turns around and sees me standing over him with the book raised. He instantly tucks his tail between his legs. I chase him back to his kennel, where I shut him inside. Then, I drop the book on my way back to Samson.
Samson is crumpled on the floor, panting hard, blood on his neck. And it’s not just a little either. He’s trying to turn to get at the wound, but he can’t. His yelps have changed to pitiful whines.
“Oh my God, Samson.” I drop to my knees beside him. My hands flutter uselessly over his body, not knowing where to touch. He’s obviously hurt on his neck. Is he hurt somewhere else, too? I need to know exactly what’s going on.
He’s shaking, his eyes wide and glazed with fear. The sight of blood seeping from a gash in his neck sends a wave of dizziness washing over me. I need to stop the flow of blood. He might need stitches. This doesn’t look like just a little scrape.
“Please, baby. It’s okay, it’s okay.” I caress Samson’s back, but he doesn’t even react to my touch. He’s sniffing himself and checking himself all over. I see a cut on his back paw then, and Samson becomes obsessed with it. He starts licking it. I gently pull him back from it.
“Don’t do that. You don’t want to make it worse. Hold on. Let me see. Oh, that one’s not so bad. Just a little. Buddy, it’s your neck. Okay, lay down. Lay down.”
I finally get Samson’s head in my lap. His tail thumps weakly against the floor as I try to push his fur aside so I can see the real damage .
As soon as I see where the skin is ripped away, I stop trying to look. I almost throw up right there.
I’m barely holding it together. My vision is blurring, my heart is hammering, and I feel like I’m going to break apart if I don’t do something. I need to get him help, but my brain is short-circuiting.
Who do I call? The vet? I’ve never dealt with something like this before. What if I can’t afford it?
But I can’t just not get Samson the help he needs. I mean…that would be like subjecting him to a painful death from some sort of infection.
I don’t have a lot of savings right now—everything I have has been going into trying to make the mortgage. But I can’t let that stop me. I can’t let Samson suffer.
My hands are shaking as I pull out my phone, and before I even think it through, I’m dialing the only person who comes to mind.
“Ethan, please—please pick up,” I whisper, holding the phone to my ear as I struggle to keep my voice steady. I’m about to hang up and try calling the vet when his deep voice finally comes through.
“Madison? What’s up?”
“It’s… Something… One of the dogs…”
It’s like Ethan understands the situation just from those few words. “What’s wrong? Do you need me over at your house?”
I’m finally able to put my words together. “It’s Samson. One of the dogs attacked him, and he’s—he’s bleeding, Ethan. I don’t know what to do. I… It looks serious.”
“Are you at your house right now?”
“Yes, I… It happened here while I was in the other room. Maybe if I had been in here, then Chico wouldn’t have?— ”
“I’m on my way home. I’ll be at your house in two minutes. Don’t move.”
“I’m—I need to get him to the vet. It looks serious. I don’t think…”
“I’m on my way. Just hang tight, okay? Don’t try to move him until I get there. We’ll figure it out in a couple of minutes.”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “Okay.”
The next few minutes feel like an eternity. Samson is still whimpering softly, his eyes drooping, and the sight of him like this is breaking my heart. I keep my hands on him, stroking his fur gently, especially his stomach and back where there is no blood. I whisper soothing words I’m not even sure he can hear. All the while, the fear of how much this is going to cost gnaws at the back of my mind. I’m already stretched thin financially. What if I can’t afford to help him? What if the vet looks at him and says he can’t help because my credit card is maxed out?
But then Ethan bursts through the front door, and everything else fades into the background.
“Okay, where is he hurt?”
I point to the gaping wound on his neck, then the smaller wound on his feet.
Ethan drops to his knees beside us, his gaze sharp as he takes in Samson’s condition. “Hey, buddy. You’re gonna be okay, all right? We’re gonna get you fixed up.”
“It’s pretty serious, right?”
Ethan nods. He puts an arm around my shoulders as he surveys Samson. “We need to take him to the vet. Do you have one you prefer?”
I name a vet on the south side of the island. I can barely speak for the lump of tears in my throat. My whole body is shaking .
Ethan scoops Samson up in his arms, careful not to jostle him too much. He turns to me, his expression determined.
“Let me get him settled in my car. Do you want to sit in the backseat with him?”
“Yes, yes, I… I need…my purse. Hold on… Let me…” My mind is scattered as I brush tears off my cheeks and try to think clearly. I’m able to get my things and my keys and hurry out to Ethan’s car. I settle in the backseat, and Ethan lays Samson in the backseat with his head in my lap. Samson tries to get up and start exploring the new space, but I pull him back down onto my lap so that his wound is facing up.
Ethan tosses me a towel. “Press this onto his neck if he’ll let you. It should help stop the flow of blood.”
I don’t question. I just do. Samson is submissive, doing exactly what I need and not moving a lot.
As we pull into the parking lot, I have to say something. Ethan can give me a loan maybe. I’ll pay him back. He’s already given me too much.
“Ethan, I—I don’t know how much this is going to cost. I don’t have enough to?—”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it covered.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, relief, guilt, and something else swirling inside me. I open my mouth to protest. “I’ll pay you back, of course. I’ll just need time. I don’t?—”
“You don’t need to pay me back.”
“But I don’t want?—”
“Madison, I’m paying. That’s final. We’re not arguing about this right now. Just focus on Samson, okay?”
I swallow hard, nodding even though the guilt is still gnawing at me. I hate this feeling—being helpless, being in a position where I need someone else’s help. But I push it down, focusing on Samson, stroking his fur and murmuring soft words to him as Ethan pulls into a parking spot.
When we finally arrive, Ethan is out of the car in an instant, lifting Samson gently and carrying him inside. The staff takes one look at him and rushes us into an exam room. I follow quickly as Samson’s pitiful whines seem to get louder.
The doctor appears in a moment and surveys him. “We’ll need to do surgery right away. I’ll have to ask you to leave for it.”
A nurse steps up and sticks a needle in Samson’s hindquarters. He jerks and whines as he tries to figure out what’s happening.
“We’ve just given him a sedative. It’s pretty fast-acting. He should be out in fifteen minutes. That will give me time to prep my team. You’re welcome to stay with him until he falls asleep. Try to keep him as still as possible.”
“Okay, okay. Thank you.” I stroke Samson’s side. It’s heaving as though he’s having trouble breathing. The thought that I might actually lose him hits me, and I can’t stop the tears then.
Ethan touches my shoulder, but my attention is fully on Samson. He doesn’t fight the sedative. He just drifts gently to sleep.
“Samson? Samson?” I ask, touching him. He doesn’t even stir. “He’s out. I should tell the doctor. Oh, I can’t believe he needs surgery. What happens if…”
“Let’s tell the doctor that he’s out, then we’ll sit in the waiting room, okay?”
Ethan takes care of the practicalities before leading me to a chair in the waiting room .
Ethan’s hand is on my shoulder, and I turn to look up at him, my eyes wide with fear. “What if he’s—what if he?—”
“He’s going to be fine. He’s a tough dog, Madison. He’ll pull through this. These vets know what they’re doing.”
I want to believe him. I want to believe that Samson’s going to be okay, that I’m not about to lose my best friend. But the fear is still there, choking me, and I feel like I’m going to fall apart right here in the middle of the waiting room.
“Hey, breathe. Just breathe, okay?” Ethan pulls me to my feet, and I lean against him, burying my face in his chest. Ethan’s arms tighten around me, his presence warm and solid, and I cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Right now, he really is.
Time seems to stretch out endlessly as we wait. I have no idea how long we’re standing there, holding on to each other, but eventually, the vet comes back out, her expression serious but calm.
“He’s stable,” she says, and I sag against Ethan. “The bite wasn’t as deep as it looked, but we need to keep him here until he wakes up. I can go ahead and give you the instructions for his wound care, though.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
The vet nods, her gaze shifting to Ethan. “He’ll be just fine. It’s just your job to apply the medications to keep away any infection. This paper here tells you exactly what an infection would look like. If you saw a sign of it, you would bring him back in. Here is his medicine for pain and the instructions for how to give that. You’ll want to keep him away from other dogs for a little while so they don’t touch his wound. Now, I just need to go over the payment with you. ”
I open my mouth, but Ethan beats me to it. “I’ve got it.” He pulls out a credit card and approaches the front desk.
I want to protest, but what am I going to say? I can’t pay for it on my own. I just don’t have the funds. Ethan is stepping in to save the day, and I’m not going to stop him from doing that. I need him right now.