In a galaxy long ago and far away... Dad and I used to get in the car on a Saturday morning around 8am and not return until long after dark that night. Once such adventurous Saturday, I almost DIED... TWICE!!!!
The first "accident" (if you want to call it that instead of ATTEMPTED MURDER) took place on our way out of our apartment complex. Dad and I were single then and living alone in a quaint one bedroom, ground floor apartment. He walked me to our car, packed for an adventure, and put me in the passenger seat. As was the custom, we stopped for breakfast at McDonalds, where I dined on sausage, egg, muffin and hash brown while he drove. We were on our way to a park to walk for awhile, then we would swing northward to visit Grandma.
After breakfast, I climbed over on Dad's lap to ride out the trip lounging on him as I watched the world go by... often napping with a full belly if it was a long drive. This day, it was cooler and breezy, so Dad had the drivers side window open about half way. I LOVE FRESH AIR, so I stuck my head out the window. What happened next has been debated for years... either I stepped on the electric window button or Dad pushed the button and the window started to roll UP, trapping my head in the open space. I started to do a dance as I tried to free my skull from the ever tighening WINDOW OF DOOM!!
Dad sensed my dire situation... mostly because I was dancing on his head, shoulder and arm... and over reacted a bit while driving 60 plus MPH down the interstate. Dad reached to free me from the window but in his panic he pushed the UP button and the window continued to tighten on my head!!! I yelped a bit and Dad quickly reversed the window and it freed me. He pulled off the side of the road and examined me for damage and held me for a minute. GUILT OR SYMPATHY???? YOU TELL ME!!!
After that, Dad convinced me he did not try to assassinate me (I'm still somewhat suspicous but I have no real proof to the contrary) and we went on to our walking destination. It was a fine spring day with bright sun and fresh grass of the trail. We were walking a little over a mile, taking in the sights of the Ohio river valley. About half way into the walk, I stepped through a meadow and with a dainty drop of my left paw... I felt as though someone had stuck a red hot iron in my foot!! I cried out and rolled over like I was tazed! I immediately thought Dad had tried to kill me, AGAIN! But it turned out I had stepped on a bee.
This was a bit more serious, seeing as we were in the midde of a park and my foot swelled to 4 times its normal size. There was no way I was walking back on my own. Dad grabbed me up, pulled out the stinger and ran (fast waddeled) back to our car. In the mean time I had started to foam at the mouth and shake. Dad thought for sure I was going to die in his arms. Once at the car, Dad dialed up the vet, who was 50 miles away. The vet advised Dad to stop at drug store and buy liquid Benadryl to control my reaction and let him know that if I was going to die... I would have likely been gone already. He wanted Dad to repeat the dosage for 24 hours and, if I showed any signs of struggling with breathing, he should ake me to the emergency vet. By the time we got back home... we abandoned our trip to Grandmas... I was mostly back to normal and sleeping on his lap.
Did Dad try to kill me that morning??? Was there a complicated plot to take my life involving McDonalds, the Pontiac Motor Corporation, Dear ol' Dad, the State of Kentucky Parks Department and wild bee's??? The world may never really know. All I know is that I survived to hike another day... and Dad always carried drugs to give me if I ever stepped on a bee again.
The first "accident" (if you want to call it that instead of ATTEMPTED MURDER) took place on our way out of our apartment complex. Dad and I were single then and living alone in a quaint one bedroom, ground floor apartment. He walked me to our car, packed for an adventure, and put me in the passenger seat. As was the custom, we stopped for breakfast at McDonalds, where I dined on sausage, egg, muffin and hash brown while he drove. We were on our way to a park to walk for awhile, then we would swing northward to visit Grandma.
After breakfast, I climbed over on Dad's lap to ride out the trip lounging on him as I watched the world go by... often napping with a full belly if it was a long drive. This day, it was cooler and breezy, so Dad had the drivers side window open about half way. I LOVE FRESH AIR, so I stuck my head out the window. What happened next has been debated for years... either I stepped on the electric window button or Dad pushed the button and the window started to roll UP, trapping my head in the open space. I started to do a dance as I tried to free my skull from the ever tighening WINDOW OF DOOM!!
Dad sensed my dire situation... mostly because I was dancing on his head, shoulder and arm... and over reacted a bit while driving 60 plus MPH down the interstate. Dad reached to free me from the window but in his panic he pushed the UP button and the window continued to tighten on my head!!! I yelped a bit and Dad quickly reversed the window and it freed me. He pulled off the side of the road and examined me for damage and held me for a minute. GUILT OR SYMPATHY???? YOU TELL ME!!!
After that, Dad convinced me he did not try to assassinate me (I'm still somewhat suspicous but I have no real proof to the contrary) and we went on to our walking destination. It was a fine spring day with bright sun and fresh grass of the trail. We were walking a little over a mile, taking in the sights of the Ohio river valley. About half way into the walk, I stepped through a meadow and with a dainty drop of my left paw... I felt as though someone had stuck a red hot iron in my foot!! I cried out and rolled over like I was tazed! I immediately thought Dad had tried to kill me, AGAIN! But it turned out I had stepped on a bee.
This was a bit more serious, seeing as we were in the midde of a park and my foot swelled to 4 times its normal size. There was no way I was walking back on my own. Dad grabbed me up, pulled out the stinger and ran (fast waddeled) back to our car. In the mean time I had started to foam at the mouth and shake. Dad thought for sure I was going to die in his arms. Once at the car, Dad dialed up the vet, who was 50 miles away. The vet advised Dad to stop at drug store and buy liquid Benadryl to control my reaction and let him know that if I was going to die... I would have likely been gone already. He wanted Dad to repeat the dosage for 24 hours and, if I showed any signs of struggling with breathing, he should ake me to the emergency vet. By the time we got back home... we abandoned our trip to Grandmas... I was mostly back to normal and sleeping on his lap.
Did Dad try to kill me that morning??? Was there a complicated plot to take my life involving McDonalds, the Pontiac Motor Corporation, Dear ol' Dad, the State of Kentucky Parks Department and wild bee's??? The world may never really know. All I know is that I survived to hike another day... and Dad always carried drugs to give me if I ever stepped on a bee again.