Yesterday, der Brucer and I drove up to Pennsylvania to meet Blackie and his human friends, to bring him home as our new foster. But Blackie did not make the return journey with us. Oh, no, he didn't come home with us at all.
The journey up was uneventful. We took Fletcher with us, who, for part of the trip decided what he really wanted was to lay across my lap sort of on his back with his nose stuck in the car's air conditioning vent. This was a bit awkward for me, because Fletcher is of course quite large (about 100 pounds of dog) and the angle at which I had to hold the book I was reading while he was in my lap wasn't exactly comfortable.
But our directions to the meetingplace in Pennsylvania were quite good, and we got there earlier than we had expected. Blackie was waiting for us with one of his current human friends, and he and Fletcher took an immediate liking to each other. After a few introductory sniffs, they ran around and played and wrastled and had a wonderful time. He also introduced himself to der Brucer and me. Since we'd been warned not to make any sudden movements around his head because of previous abuse, we were prudently cautious and let him get to know us before giving him his requested pets.
Blackie's second human friend, who runs the rescue operation that has been caring for him, arrived after a short while, and we were all getting along quite well. Both of the caregivers seemed to like us and Blackie seemed to like us, and caregiver #2 went inside to get some paperwork...
And then Blackie jumped up at der Brucer. There wasn't a growl or anything negative, Blackie just jumped up and hit der B in the face with his own face. And the next thing we knew, der B had blood running down his beard.
Fortunately, where we were meeting Blackie and company was at a kennel. We quickly got der B inside, where he cleaned his scrapes with peroxide and decided they weren't going to be fatal. I took der B aside, and asked if he was still sure about this. If Blackie could get too rough with us, what was to keep him from getting too rough with our dogs? Could there be trouble? Der B asked me to slow down, we needed to think about this.
So back to the outside run we went. And within a minute of our being back in the run with everyone else, Blackie jumped up at me, exactly as he had with der Brucer.
Let's make this absolutely clear. I don't believe he was trying to bite me. He was trying to be friendly, and trying to get up to my level. But his open mouth collided with my face, and this time I was bleeding.
Back we went to the rest room, and this time it wasn't so good. Blackie hadn't just cut me - he'd split my lip wide open, from the lip half-way to my nose and half-way through the flesh. I could tell that this was going to take more than a simple band-aid, that I needed stitches.
Everyone was apologetic to each other. The two caregivers apologized to us. We apologized to them. They agreed to take care of the medical expenses, and one of them drove us to a medical center, where it took quite a long time for the staff to get through the que to see me. (Fletcher, waiting outside the facility with der B, flirted with almost everyone walking by.) At first, the nurses thought it would take just a few stitches to close the wound, but the doctor nixed that idea, and insisted that I see a plastic surgeon to do the job right.
So off we went to a hospital emergency room, where a plastic surgeon was working on another patient and would therefor be available. It took another long time for him to get to see me, of course. Why medical dramas always make hospitals seem like venues filled with running and people yelling "STAT!" doesn't make any sense, because that's never what really happens. But see me he finally did, and sew me up he did (several subdural stitches along with the surface stuff). I was shot by a tetanis, and dripped with antibacterials by an IV, and quizzed by a clerk with paperwork, and by the time I got out of the ER it was already past nine-thirty at night. Blackie had struck me, and struck out, at about two-thirty that afternoon. We got home at a little past eleven.
So here I sit, with three-quarters of a moustache but some threads poking through where the other quarter used to be. The inside of my lip is bruised. There are a couple of other abrasions. And I've got the early shift at work today.
The good news is, there wasn't anything that der Brucer needed to record on last night's television schedule.