The Rattlesnake and the Dog Who Lived
How our precious Willow survived a strike to the face
Hey everyone. A little break from The Legend of Mr. Snatchum as life happened in a big, treacherous way. I did get another chapter done, just need to illustrate it, etc.
Hello to new subscribers, thank you for joining us!
—K.C.
2020 was a bad year for a lot of us.
For us personally, in addition to the excruciating stresses of having little ones and being in lockdown, that summer ended with the passing of my mother, just a year and a half after my wife had lost her mother.
We emotionally limped into 2021. After a record year financially in 2020—one of the bright spots, I was inexplicably laid off early in 2021. (Unfortunately, I think greed was the culprit.)
Late in the year, we got wind through a teammate on my son’s soccer team that a litter of mini-Austrailian Shepard puppies had been born on Thanksgiving.
The first good omen.
We had a fourteen-year-old mini-Aussie whom we adored named Wiley that was my wife and I’s first cherished fur baby. Getting another Aussie was always going to be a top priority of ours. This seemed fortuitous that a new puppy might have such a great mentor and tutor.
So, our curiosity piqued, and ready for some emotional healing perhaps only puppies can bring, my wife, our kids, and my sister-in-law visiting over the holidays began a series of “visits” to the owner of eight of the cutest puppies you’ve ever seen.
The mother and father were loving dogs—especially the mama. We met seven of eight puppies on the first visit, except for one. One of only two females, a Tri-colored (black, white, and tan) lump of fur was passed out from evidently slurping up the lioness’ share of her mama’s milk.
We met all of the puppies on the second visit. My wife and I thought we’d probably settle on a spirited Blue Merle male like Wiley. There was also a devastatingly handsome Tri-colored male.
But on the ride home discussing which puppies we liked best, my eldest son Graham said in earnest, “That joker-faced puppy is going to be ours.” So he called her Joker Face, because of the insane pink ring around the white portion of her face. It looked like a possible disfiguration or birthmark, and I noticed everyone gravitated to all of the other puppies.
Not Graham. He was not only certain she was to be ours, but he also stated as fact with a knowing shrug, “She’s the best one.”
The second good omen.
So on February 1, 2022, we called the owner per his wishes to see about picking a puppy. I had warned the boys not to get their hopes up too much as the owner was likely to give away all of the puppies to friends and families first as they were free. He said, “I’ve got two left, but I think one of them is about to be picked up. Come now if you want to check out the other one. She’ll probably be gone tomorrow.”
The available one was the tri-colored female, Joker Face. Also the food-motivated passed out puppy from our first visit.
My birthday is in early February, Willow became my birthday present. Graham’s prediction became true.
The third good omen.
For her first year, I trained and exercised Willow every day. Late-night potty training sessions first, then constant leash, distance, and obedience training.
Willow blossomed.
Not that she was ever an ugly duckling, but if she had looked like the “gorgeous girl” I call her every day then, I don’t think she would have been around to adopt.
Willow became our emotional salvation. Learning the ropes from her big brother Wiley, who despite being the most food-motivated dog that ever lived, would always leave three or four kibble bites for his little sister.
They would beg together:
They did art together (begrudgingly).
But Willow again was there to help us through the difficult process of losing a beloved family member.
My Clark Kent jobs have come and gone like a kid playing with a light switch: ON. OFF. ON. OFF. Through it all, Willow has been my absolute pillar.
My exercise buddy, the best athlete I’ve ever been around—she could make the women’s national soccer team if she were human—no kidding.
Then Tuesday night happened…
The weather in Austin, Texas transitioned from feeling like walking on the surface of the sun to a more typical summer weather. Rain even made a rare appearance.
If you need to know one thing about the Hill Country in Texas, it's that snakes become quite active when the weather changes, hunting and seeking out their winter dens.
Usually, I turn on the back porch light and take a ridiculous-sized flashlight that would make a sasquatch freeze like a deer in its beam.
Getting Willow’s last potty of the night in, I shrugged it off as I could still see fairly well, even though it was nearing dusk. I even staved off Willow’s valiant attempt to catch her ball in the dark, only allowing one throw. She did her customary catch, adding her trademark acrobatic flair to the simplest of catches (she’s part Border Collie), and trotted to the back door, letting the ball roll into the shadows by our back door.
Then she got curious about something I couldn’t see from the sudden onset of darkness that draped the back porch in shadows.
At first, I thought it was a toad she was sniffing, as we have some hulkish specimens that come out at twilight. Then I saw an unmistakable question mark coiled shape pinned against the back door.
I called her off, and she immediately came to me, looking afraid and shaken. I scooped her up and went around the front, ringing the doorbell like a rabid solicitor until my wife let us in.
“I think there’s a snake back there!” I said, still uncertain and praying I was wrong.
We flipped on the back porchlight and saw THIS!! right beside the back door:
The stuff of nightmares, right?
Willow then started to act a bit distant, stoic even. One of her eyes began to squint though there was no swelling anywhere to be seen. I felt it in my heart, she had been bitten.
TO DOG OWNERS: DO THIS RIGHT NOW!:
Be sure to add an emergency vet clinic to your favorites list on your mobile phone. Find out from your local vet where to take them for severe cases, accidents, etc. Make sure they are open 24/7. For those in rattlesnake territory or worse—(hello my Tasmanian relatives!), find out if they have antivenom for the poisonous snakes in your area. Also, ask them if they will let you sit with the dog before and after treatment. Back to the writing already in progress…
After some frantic scrambling and a much too fast journey from our home to downtown Austin, a blood toxicology confirmed that she had been envenomated, but there were no obvious signs of swelling or visible puncture wounds. The vet initially thought Willow had only gotten a “dry bite.”
To no avail. After paying and signing off on all legalese to administer rattlesnake anti-venom, I returned to the lobby. I heard her screams coming from the back and had to sit, wondering, waiting, anguishing at what she must be going through.
It takes an hour to give the anti-venom as it has to be slowly dosed. Then two more hours of waiting for another blood screen for an update.
The thought of losing her seemed too much for me. I texted back and forth with my wife, knowing my boys were shattered and distressed at home. We’d been through too much recent hardship and loss.
But there was also comfort in strangers. A nice man and his partner took pity on me, hearing that Willow had suffered a rattlesnake bite. We tried to comfort one another as they had a handsome old Scottish Terrier suffering from the afflictions of old age. He at least got to go home with them to live another day.
Other patients weren’t so lucky.
A family with a young teenage girl brought in an orange tabby cat. When the family went back with the doctor the girl remained in the lobby with me, refusing to go as if distressed about what she might hear.
About thirty minutes later, the girl’s mother sternly but compassionately stepped out to insist she come into the room to hear out the doctor.
I heard her let out an earth-shattering squeal and then came full-volume wails and shuddering, bone-rattling sobs, that came from the place in the soul when one’s heart is broken. I prayed to God to help take her suffering away. I wanted to do anything to help steady her. Eventually, the din subsided and she left with her family, but without the bright orange tabby they had brought in.
My situation suddenly didn’t seem as bad. Yes, it was possibly dire, but nothing like what that poor young woman had just suffered.
At 2 AM the doctor took me to a back room and confirmed Willow would need a second dose of anti-venom. I got to say “goodnight,” too exhausted to stay another three hours before the next blood draw. She gave yipping shrieks when I left her, as the doctor closed the tiny cage door, and my heart broke.
I went home, emotionally spent, wondering about the handsome elderly terrier and how his daddies were doing, praying again for the young woman, her family, and the soul of their cat. I spent most of the night praying through sweat and tears for Willow. I prepared myself for the possibility that she might not survive the night, but I had faith and hope she would.
I returned first thing in the morning to the emergency vet clinic and camped out in the lobby, thrilled to learn she had eaten and had responded well to the second dose of anti-venom.
They had more animals than they could handle, so we elected to take Willow to our local vet as they could more closely monitor her and had rattlesnake anti-venom there if needed.
She improved and we got to take her home.
Wednesday was a looooong day:
Then, just 24 hours later!:
I am truly grateful to have her lying at my feet as I write this. I hope it uplifts someone out there going through a tough time.
As for the rattlesnake… (Clears throat.)
I was so concerned with Willow that I let him go. I gave him 24 hours to leave the property, but… he didn’t!?
My wife and I walked within inches of him when, during a thorough search of the backyard, I spotted him curled up against a large planter near the side of the house in broad daylight!
And now? I can confirm he’s not in our yard anymore.
As always, I appreciate every one of my readers out there. You matter, your lives matter, your family matters. Helping each other is what it’s all about.
See you soon!
Kevin
Excellent story. Sorry for the cat loss, but happy for the dog survival!