Emergency CPR…on a Yorkshire Terrier - by Daniel

News flash – Daniel does emergency CPR…on a Yorkshire Terrier
By Daniel

You know that green bikini Speedo, the one I wear that makes my family embarrassed and ought to make me feel the same? That’s what I was wearing when I gave mouth to mouth resuscitation to the Yorky.

It was at the Hungry Mother State Park, Marion VA, the girls and I were playing a friendly round of snapping turtles. The biggest, scariest snapping turtle being our over affectionate chocolate Labrador, Stella, dog paddling too close with razor claws.

A fat fisherman and his teenage boy paddled by, sitting on beach chairs in a flat rowboat - looked a bit rickety to me. Stella yapped, she smelled the fisherman’s dogs before we saw them. The boy got his line snagged, rod bent, he was reeling and yanking. I was doing my damndest to chat up the fisherman but he didn’t seem to be paying mind to my questions and frankly he looked a little agitated. Next moment, he leaned out over the bow and extracted a limp Yorky, raising it high by its scruff like a trophy fish. The Yorky had jumped into the water to greet Stella; the fisherman’s boat mistakenly steamed over him.

The doggie was a dripping rag doll and the fisherman breathed heavy. “What am I gonna do? Don’t die, Angel, don’t die.” He looked at me, kind of desperate, though he didn’t seem the expressive sort. Water was still dripping off my green bikini when he looked at me, “You know anything about what to do?”

Tyler yelled from the bank, “do CPR”. I grabbed the boat gunnel and pulled it to shore. The fisherman passed me the Yorky. Its eyes were bugged out, glassy – eyelids wouldn’t shut and it wasn’t breathing. It looked like Sabina and Talia had just drowned one of their stuffed animals.

I wrapped my mouth around its snout. “We just recently lost one,” the fishermen panted. “We were driving to the vet, he peed in my lap and he died.” I exhaled into its mouth. I did my best to cover it’s tiny nostrils with my index finger. I blew one, two, maybe five breaths into Yorky’s mouth. Tyler offered, “massage its heart”. I couldn’t find it. I blew some more.

I was thinking of Sabina. This trip had been hard on her, leaving her friends and hating the car and hating her parents for this whole damned adventure. She loves animals more than… well, I’m not going to say it. If this dog dies, I thought, we’re going to have one traumatized girl on our hands. We might even have to turn back. I gave the Yorky everything I had.

The dog’s eyelids closed, real slow. His snout opened, mouthing doggy words. “His name is Angel, he sleeps with my wife, she loves him.” The fisherman’s boy was still trying to unsnag the line. He hadn’t said a word.

“Thank the Lord,” the fisherman said.

I did some last CPR and then Sabina wrapped the dog in our towel; it trembled and then shook violently. We offered the fisherman the towel. He didn’t want to put us out. We insisted.

In the boat was a slatted crate of live bait - crickets. The fisherman wound in his lines and dismantled his rods. The wind picked up, the sky darkened. It thundered. “I can take you back to your car,” I said. “I’m awful grateful for what you done.” Still shocked and stupid, I said, “I never done that before.” “I’m glad you did,” he said and I shook his hand.

Down the road, Talia and Sabina got Moose Tracks and Raspberry ice cream at a soda shop. If we’d had more time, we would’ve played mini golf and taken batting practice. It started to rain and we made for Memphis. I’ll never wash my mouth again.