Urban Legends 1
The Choking Doberman
By DoggyJ
EMAIL: DoggyJ
Setting: Season Two – when Jim still has the Expedition
You all know the story…
"Oh, man, am I sore!" Jim Ellison complained, twisting his body around in a vain attempt to stretch out the tight muscles in his back.
"Tell you what, you go on home and take a hot shower. I’ll run over to Cindy’s place and take care of Pumkin real quick, then when I get back I’ll give you a back rub," Blair Sandburg promised.
Jim frowned at him. " ‘Pumkin’? Are you sure this is a Doberman we’re talking about and not a pom-poo or whatever?"
Blair rolled his eyes. From the moment Blair had told Jim he was taking care of his friend’s dog for the weekend, Jim had continuously poked fun at the poor dog’s name. "Look, for the last time, I didn’t name the mutt, Cindy did. She got the dog Halloween weekend, you know. And think about the poor dog. A Doberman pinscher with a name like ‘Pumkin’. Can’t be easy for him, either. All the other Dobie’s probably make fun of him."
Jim snickered. "Well, they ought to. Like that song, ‘A Boy Named Sue’." Jim began reciting his rendition of the Johnny Cash classic.
Flinching, Blair reflected that Johnny Cash probably had the better voice. "Okay, okay, I give up! Geez, torture a guy. I’m off to walk Pumkin, be back in a little while."
"Be careful, Chief," Jim called.
"What, with a Doberman? Get real," Blair called back.
Jim laughed all the way to his SUV. Pumkin! For a Doberman pinscher! Some people just lost all common sense when it came to their animals.
Blair hurried to his Corvair, noting the time. It was at least nine hours since he had last looked in on the dog, and he sent a prayer up to whatever god or saint was in charge of animals that he wouldn’t find a big mess. Cindy had left the dog in her kitchen with a very stout security fence across the doorway. Even though there was a solid layer of papers down, Blair didn’t look forward to the possibility of cleaning up after a Pumkin size mess.
Approaching the door to the apartment, Blair pulled out the spare set of keys Cindy had given him. He frowned as he fitted the key into the lock. Usually, Pumkin was barking his head off by now, but the apartment was quiet. Blair practically ran through the living room to the kitchen, searching frantically for the dog. He found the small room in a mess, papers scattered everywhere and the security gate lying on the floor.
"Pumkin?" he called. "Where are you? Pumkin!" A strange coughing sound caught his attention and he headed toward Cindy’s bedroom. Idly, he noted the open window by the balcony, then immediately forgot about it as he caught sight of the dog.
Pumkin was lying on the floor in front of the closet, wheezing pitifully. When the dog saw Blair, he raised his head feebly and tried to wag his stump of a tail. But the effort was too much for him and his head fell back to the floor. Blair could clearly see that the dog was having trouble breathing. A small bloodstain was on the floor beneath Pumkin’s head.
"Oh, man, Pumkin! What happened, boy? What did you get into? I’ve got to get you to the vet!" Frantically, Blair scrambled for his cell phone and dialed Jim.
"Ellison," Jim answered.
"Jim, something’s wrong with Pumkin. He can’t breath. I’ve got to get him to the vet, but I don’t think I can get him in my car. Please, please, please can you come get us?" Blair pleaded.
"Sandburg, I just got out of the shower. I’m not even dressed," Jim grumbled.
"Well how long can it take you? Jim, man, I’m telling you, the dog is dying. And if Cindy thinks I’ve killed her dog she will never ever ever talk to me again. It will break her heart, man. Please?" Blair begged.
"Stop with the sob story. Okay, what’s the address?" Jim’s tone clearly said he was making a huge mistake, but he dutifully scribbled down the location.
When Blair hung up, he grabbed the phone book from the bedside table and quickly located a 24-hour emergency veterinary hospital. He called them to let them know he would be coming, and then got a large beach towel from Cindy’s bathroom. He struggled to get the seventy-five pound dog onto the towel then bent to lift the distressed animal. Pumkin tried to turn his head to lick Blair, but just didn’t have the strength.
"Don’t worry, boy, I’m going to take care of you. You’re going to be all right, you’ll be just fine. Oh, please, be just fine!" Staggering, Blair carried the dog out of the apartment and down the narrow metal steps to the sidewalk. He laid the dog down and patted his head affectionately. "Wait here just a minute, okay? I’ve got to lock Cindy’s door then I’ll be right back." Blair ran back up the stairs, locked the door, and rushed down, jumping over the last few steps.
He knelt beside the dog again. "You still breathing? Good boy, Pumkin, hang in there." Blair looked up as headlights raked the parking lot. He stood up, waving frantically to get Jim’s attention.
Jim pulled up as close as he could and climbed out of the vehicle. He came over to Blair and looked down on the dog. "Okay, let’s get this show on the road," he said.
He helped Blair pick Pumkin up again and had them get into the back seat of the Expedition. "I hope you know you’re going to clean out any dog hairs I find back there," he grumbled, going back to the driver’s side.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Blair agreed. "Go to the clinic on Cooper and 4th, I already called them and they’re waiting for me."
"How do you plan to pay for this, Mr. Gotbucks?" Jim asked.
"Plastic, man. The American way," Blair answered, stroking the dog’s head. "And how can you even ask that when Pumkin’s life hangs in the balance here? What price do you put on unconditional love?"
"Oh, for the love of…" Jim wisely fell silent, driving through the darkened streets.
Arriving at the clinic, Jim pressed the after hours buzzer then went back to help Blair pull the dog from the back seat. Even he could tell that Pumkin was in real trouble. The staff met them at the door with a rolling table, much like a gurney at a hospital. Blair gratefully put the dog down and followed them back to the examination room. A short time later he came back out to find Jim pacing impatiently in the waiting room.
"Can we go home now?" Jim demanded.
Blair looked at him; hurt and indignation clear in his dark blue eyes. "You don’t even care what they said about Pumkin?"
"Okay," Jim sighed. "What did they say about Pumkin?"
"Well, he definitely has something caught in his throat. They’re going to x-ray him to see the exact placement, and then probably sedate him to remove whatever it is. Oh, man, if anything happens to that dog…" Blair stared at the door leading back to the exam rooms.
"So he’s going to be here for a while, right? And we can go home and get some sleep, right? And come back to get him in the morning. Right?" Jim asked hopefully.
"Yeah, I guess so," Blair agreed. "But you need to take me back to Cindy’s. I want to clean up her apartment and I still need to get my car."
Jim sighed once again. "All right. Let’s get going."
In the SUV, Blair talked nervously on the way to the apartment. "She said that Pumkin was probably bored since he’s used to having Cindy around all the time. I probably shouldn’t have left him alone so long today. He could have gotten into anything. I’m going to take a look around while I’m up there and see if I can find what he might have been chewing on.
"She said that since they’re going to sedate him, they’ll probably just keep him until about mid-morning. That is, if there’s no damage to his throat. If there’s any other damage, then they’ll go ahead and fix that, and he might have to stay there three or four days. I gave them my cell phone number and the number at my office, and the loft. Oh, and I also left your number at work in case they can’t get me. You don’t mind, do you? I mean…"
"Sandburg!" Jim barked. "I mean this in the nicest possible way, but shut up, okay?"
"Oh, yeah, sorry," Blair apologized. "I’m just worried, you know? I mean, Cindy trusted me with her dog, with another life, and I screwed it up. But I couldn’t just leave, you know? Especially when you almost got run over by that car. How’s your back by the way?"
"Fine, and we’re here," Jim growled.
"Okay, well, thanks for helping me out. I really appreciate it, man, you don’t know how much. Just let me out and I’ll check her apartment, then I’ll be home in just a little while." Blair jumped out of the truck and waved back at Jim, then ran up the steps to the second floor.
Jim put the SUV in gear and started to head home. He looked over at the passenger seat and saw Blair’s cell phone. It must have fallen out of his jacket pocket. Jim tried to tell himself that the vet wouldn’t call this soon, but he knew how anxious Blair was to find out about the dog’s condition. Calling himself seven different kinds of an idiot, Jim turned around to head back to the apartment complex.
He found a parking place and wearily climbed out of the Expedition, carrying Blair’s phone with him. Climbing the stairs, he found Cindy’s door by virtue of the fact that it was standing wide open.
"Sandburg, didn’t your mother ever teach you to close a door?" Jim froze, his senses suddenly on alert.
Blair came out of the kitchen carrying a plastic trash bag filled with the newspapers that had been on the floor. "Hey, what are you doing…?" He stopped, noticing Jim’s posture of intense concentration.
Jim held out his hand, palm down, signaling Blair to be quiet. Blair immediately dropped the trash bag and hurried to Jim’s side.
"What is it? What are you picking up?" he asked quietly, putting his hand on Jim’s arm.
Jim gently pushed Blair off to one side, handing him the cell phone. Blair started to thank him, but the look he got from Jim stopped the words in his throat. Jim drew his gun, carefully looking around the living room. His eyes narrowed, and he started toward the bedroom in the back.
Blair’s phone shrilled suddenly, and Jim flinched, glaring at Blair. Blair quickly answered the phone, keeping his voice low. Jim moved on toward the bedroom, stopping in the doorway and looking around intently. His nostrils flared, and his ears picked up the faint sounds from the closet. He was so focused that he didn’t hear Blair calling his name from the other room.
Carefully, slowly, Jim stepped closer to the closet. Holding his gun in his right hand, he reached out to open the door. Behind him, eyes huge with apprehension, Blair stood in the bedroom doorway. Jim turned the knob and pulled the closet door open quickly, returning his left hand to his gun in the classic stance.
Slowly, Jim relaxed his position somewhat, noticing that Blair had come into the room with him. Blair walked hesitantly over to Jim, afraid of what he might see.
A thin man huddled on the floor of the closet, eyes huge in his pale face. One hand clutched the other to his chest, and the bloodstain down the front of his jacket was clearly visible. He didn’t move, just sat on the floor and stared at the two men.
"That was the vet," Blair said. "She found what Pumkin was choking on."
The thin man slowly held out his hand, showing the bloody stumps where two fingers used to be.
End