“Narcotic-Addicted Dog Trapped Under Ramp!”

Yes. This was this morning’s headline here at the Boston News.

I’ve not been dwelling on the historical delights of tea-drinking this week because of this:

“You look miserable. So here’s a stick.”

This is our one-year old Border Collie, Agnes. Aggie for short. She’s part of the herding dog category, and is exceptionally good at chasing balls, frisbees, cats, small children, lawn mowers and four wheelers.

You can see where this is going.

She also likes to herd vehicles. She’s been doing this since she arrived at our house. This means she runs around and around the moving vehicle until you go fast enough that she finally deems you worthy enough to race you down the driveway.

It’s rather nerve-wracking for the driver, who can’t see her but we’ve all learned to drive slowly until she takes off on her “race”.

Well, last Saturday, she apparently didn’t get her timing quite right.

Scott took off in the Big Red Truck for an oil change and came to the back door a few minutes later, with Aggie in his arms and such a worried look on his face.

“I think her back leg is broken”

Off we went to the Emergency Vet who x-rayed her and confirmed that yes, the femur was in a good number of very crunchy pieces.

She came home in a splint, with enough drugs to knock out an elephant herd.

If you’ve ever tried to get a Border Collie to be still for five minutes, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.

She went back into surgery two days later, so we can safely say the first couple of days she was safely ensconced in a cloud of anesthesia. Except when she realized she was wearing the dreaded Cone of Shame on the way home from the vet and we took that off lickety-split to avoid spontaneous combustion…

As you can see, this was not a small thing. She is stitched, pinned, splinted, drugged and completely confused.

She was medicated enough for the first few days to be quite an easy patient. We occasionally had to open the door and prop her up on three legs so she could go do her thing outside, Long-John-Silver-style. Sans the parrot…

We noticed a pattern with the Tramadol effects. About ten minutes before the medicine completely knocked her out, she seemed to hallucinate and suddenly get up and run to some random location in the house or garage. I swear she was seeing things, scary things.

I’ve heard it does similar things to humans.

One morning after medicating her, I went outside to take care of the chickens. I figured I had a good 15 mins to feed and water before dealing with Aggie’s pink elephants.

When I came back into the garage she had disappeared. Except for the small splinted foot sticking out from beneath the ramp in our garage.

Don’t get me wrong. This is a wonderful ramp. We put in in when we built the house as Scott’s late grandfather was using a walker, and it’s been incredibly helpful ever since for a variety of things, particularly this last week with Aggie the Peg Leg.

However, there’s a bit of a hitch. She can get waayyyy under it. And does when she’s worried or has seen something scary. She’s done this a couple of times during thunderstorms. But never with a large brace attached to leg.


I woke the kids up in their most favorite way, by calling in a very panicked tone that I needed help (this happens frequently, there’s always something going on on this farm). After investigating we decided she was well and truly wedged.

We started extrication proceedings with a “yummy” hot dog which we had little faith in, since I’ve been known to be over-feeding her since her injury.

You need an extra 300-500 calories a day with broken bones, apparently. Don’t try it, not a sensible diet move…

Then we got a 2×6 to try and shimmy her along to the “taller” part of the ramp. No luck there either. The Tramadol had well and truly kicked in.

I sobbed a couple of times and talked about calling the Fire Department, and Frankie, who was laying on the floor doing all the dog-coaxing and project engineering, kept getting up to console her rather unhelpful mother.

We decided to utilize some of the Boston male brawn contingent. We finally managed to get Will out of bed and he crow-barred the entire ramp up an extra six inches, to allow Frankie to shimmy under with Scott’s Shepherds Crook that we got him for Christmas in England last year and she dragged the dog out.

The dog was completely oblivious to all of our last 45 minutes worth of endeavors. She quickly plopped herself on her pillow and was out like a light. I rapidly constructed a ramp-hole barricade that looked like something from Les Miserables, and the kids managed to get out the door on time.

My friends in England were probably watching BBC and chugging tea that time of the morning.

But I fell in love with an Illinois farm boy….❤️

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