Rusty the dog and the story of a dog bite

Rusty was my dog when I was twelve. Obviously, we called him rusty because of his color. Red, like a cocker spangle, but I believe he was mostly a mix mutt. We lived now in Shore Hills on Lake Hopatcong in New Jersey. My father owned the Jewelry Store in Dover and had just added a pawn broker business to his list of endeavors. At this point in my life my parents were divorced and my brother lived with our mom and I had the privilege of living with our dad.

One day I was outside and Rusty had a bone of some sort in his mouth. I tried to get it away from him thinking he might choke on it. Bad move. What did I know? I was only twelve and naive and could be considered downright dumb. Of course, Rusty did not take me as his savior but instead bite me right on the fleshy part of the palm. I bled badly. I ran to the door of the house we rented and yelled for my dad.

He came out but would not let me in the house. I believe he said I would bled on the rug and since it was not our rug that would be a problem. He ran and brought out a towel. He wrapped my hand in it and lead me to the car. He was going to drive me to the local hospital which in Dover.

I was told to keep pressure on my wrist to cut down the bleeding. As we approached the hospital my father informed me we had no insurance and since we could not afford this I was to do the following. The instructions made no sense to me at the time but now I understand his plight better.

He would let me out of the car. I was to leave the towel in the car. I was to go to the front of the hospital to a sprinkler and fall. I was to make like the sprinkler had caused the cut. I was to keep my mouth shut except to give them my father’s phone number at the store. I was to yell and scream a lot.

I did as I was told. The hospital people came out and brought the poor lad, that was me, into the emergency room where I got stitches to close the wound on my hand. I gave out the number and by the time they called my dad he had gotten to the store. He closed the store and hurried to my aid. He was at the hospital within a half hour.

I do not know much of what happened. I believe I was given a shot of something. It made me woozy and sleepy. I remember my dad yelling and screaming some stuff.

.

Well, there it is, a dirty little secret. If you do inform Dover Hospital of this breech I will assume I will get a bill in the mail. Otherwise I guess we got away with it. Either way I have the scar on the palm of my hand to remind me never to take food away from a dog which is hungry.

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