Snakebite

Frederic Remington’s “The Rattlesnake,” MFA Houston

I used to laugh (somewhat ironically) that here in South Texas, running sometimes involved jumping over copperheads. It’s happened too many times. Their “Hershey kiss” camouflage is for real. Once, I looked away from the ground only long enough to wipe the sweat from my face before I saw the coppery creature on my path. In a split second, I found myself lifting my foot and jumping across it, instead of placing it on the ground in front of me. Phew! I thought to myself, looking back over my shoulder to see that the snake hadn’t moved from that spot. Only once have I changed course, but that was for a coral snake that didn’t move after I chucked a couple of rocks and branches close by. I decided that the dogs and I shouldn’t take that chance, and we headed back the way we came.

The deadly Coral snake is known for its beautiful rings

This past Saturday was the dogs’ favorite kind of day. It had rained all day Friday, ushering in a cold front, so I knew the park would have lots of standing water in the fields and low humidity. The dogs ran and played for thirty minutes before we turned to head for the car, which was another twenty-minute walk back. As we neared, I put Bergy on the leash, keeping him with Sylvi and me. I looked back to see where Tuukka was and called for him to catch up. It wasn’t unusual for him to hang back as we headed for home. He liked to stretch out “park time” for as long as possible. When I looked back the third time, I realized Tuukka hadn’t really made up any distance, so this time I was insistent. That’s when I noticed he was holding his right front leg up and hopping towards me.

I jogged back with Bergy and Sylvi to meet him. I picked up his foot to make sure he didn’t have a thorn piercing a pad, but I didn’t feel anything unusual. I flexed his joints, pulled on his leg, and palpated it, but Tuukka didn’t react to any of it. My heart sank. Non-weight-bearing could only mean one thing, I thought to myself. On the leg he had surgery on a year ago, no less—a fracture.

Sorry, Tuuk, I said. You’re gonna have to hoof it back to the car.

We were on a part of the trail off-limits to vehicles, and I couldn’t carry a 90-pound dog that far. I patted Tuukka on the head and slowed down to match his gimpy stride.

Just take your time, Buddy.

It wasn’t until we got home twenty-five minutes later that I realized Tuukka’s leg had blown up. Now he wouldn’t let anyone touch it without crying. I dropped Bergy and Sylvi off and carried on to the emergency room an hour away. Russ had called the one closer to us, but it had a five-hour wait. As it was, once we arrived, we had to wait two hours to be seen by a vet. I stuck my head out of the exam room after an hour, hoping to flag someone down. I did, asking her, “Umm, he has a snake bite, so shouldn’t someone see him?”

I didn’t know this for sure yet, but I thought I should act like I did in order to receive some immediate attention. I was thinking the timing of treatment may be crucial with this kind of thing. Again, I didn’t know, but it seemed intuitive to me that it would. Besides, Tuukka was starting to shiver, trying to curl into a ball on the slick vinyl floor. Wasn’t this indicative of shock? I asked for a blanket.

Finally, they injected Tuukka with some pain meds and Benadryl for the swelling. They collected blood to make sure his kidney and liver values weren’t compromised and to ensure his blood-clotting capabilities were still good. Lucky for all of us, his blood work was perfect, so we could forego the anti-venom infusion. Had we had to do that, the bill would have crested over $3,000.

They sent us home with pain meds and an antibiotic for any secondary bacterial infection. I thought this was a good plan. God only knows what a snake skimming a swampland picks up in its mouth at any given time.

Yesterday, four days post snakebite, I took the dogs back to the park. At the front gate, I told the attendant what had happened over the weekend. She shook her head in sympathy.

She said, “Well, you know what my mama always told me growing up after a dog got bit?”

“No, what?” I asked.

“She’d say, ‘Well, now he’s vaccinated against it.’”

I don’t know if her mama’s right, but I sure want to believe her.