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Killer Toad

June 14, 2013
My name is Punky

My name is Punky

Now for a little different flavor.  At this point in time, many years ago we had Smokey, Punky, and Boomer.  This story is about Punky our little Yorkie.  He LOVED to go outside and hunt.  His favorite big game to hunt was those little green lizards that were abundant at our house.  All you had to say was, “Where’s the lizard?” and off he’d go big game hunting.  He would go snorking in the bushes and beside the house tracking those lizards.  Well one early evening I was in the house and Cindy was outside with the Punks and he was being his usual self, big game hunting.  But this particular evening he didn’t find a lizard, instead he found a killer toad!  Now I didn’t witness the attack, and Cindy didn’t either, but it was evident that Punky did.  Cindy yelled into the house “Dave, something is wrong with Punky.  Come QUICK!”  So I run outside not knowing what to expect.   There is Punky shaking his head, froth around his mouth, and acting funny.  I asked what had happened.  Cindy said, “I’m not sure but I think he got mixed up with that toad over there.”  So I go look and sure enough there sits a toad beside the house.  So I am wondering if Punky had been watching that special on TV about licking a toads head and getting a LSD high.  The toad appeared to be fine, didn’t look like he was bitten.  Then Punky began having a hard time breathing.  So we picked him up and noticed his collar was very tight.  Well he has a small neck to begin with so that was very unusual.  After removing his collar he was still struggling to breath.  We began to get vey concerned and figured that Punky did tangle with the killer toad and ingested some defensive chemical that the toad produced.  I decided it was time for me to get the ambulance fired up and get Punky to the emergency room for some life saving assistance.  Good for us there was an Animal Hospital about a mile and a half from the house so we loaded up, Punky riding shot gun and me driving.  As I drove him, his breathing was very sporadic and I could tell it was getting worse by the minute.  Tears began rolling down my face and I was trying to talk to him and reassure him telling him I was getting him help and to hang in there.  I remember telling him, “Daddy loves you Punky, keep breathing.  Please don’t die, please keep breathing Punk.  We’ll be there in a second.  Hang in there Punky.”  Within minutes our ambulance arrived at the hospital.  I grab Punky and go running in through the front door and yelled, “We need a Vet NOW, he’s not breathing.”  And I was greeted with the following from the lame girl in the reception area, “I’m sorry Sir but we don’t open for another 15 minutes.”  I said, “You WHAT?  My dog cannot breath, LOOK we need some help NOW.”  “Sir, I am sorry it will be about 15 minutes as the Vet is not here yet.”  I responded, “YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME.  My dog is struggling to get a breath and you are telling me to wait 15 minutes.  WHAT KIND OF HOSPITAL IS THIS!”  So my mind went into high gear.  I knew that there was a clinic about 5 miles away and with my ambulance I can get him there if I rush in about 10 minutes with a little help.  So I rush Punky back outside, only having been in this house of death about 30 seconds, and off we go.  Now I am crying, driving, and trying to console Punk.  He looks at me with pleading eyes as if to say “Please help me, I can’t breath”.  I’m telling him to hang in there.  “Daddy loves you Punk.  I’m getting you to a place that will help but you have to hang in there.  Take a breath, please Punk.”  He was getting in a small breath every few seconds but I knew if he didn’t get help quickly it would not turn out well.  I sped to that clinic as fast as I could, no concern for the posted speed limit of 35 MPH on the longest stretch of road.  We arrived at the other clinic in about 8 or 9 minutes, one of the longest 8 or 9 minutes of my life.  I grab Punk and rush in and yelled out, “WE NEED A VET.  MY DOG IS NOT BREATHING!”  And they went into action, took him back immediately.  They administered some oxygen and he began breathing again, although shallow at first, his breathing returned to normal within minutes.  I guess maybe the toxic substance from the killer toad was wearing off.  By now, from the time of the Killer Toad attack until it had been maybe 15 minutes, 20 tops.  After about 10 minutes the Vet said that Punk’s breathing was returning to normal but there was some swelling in the neck.  Monitor him but he should be fine.  I paid them, I think it was around $200, but I didn’t care what the cost was because Punky was looking better and breathing normally at this point.  So I take him back to the ambulance and we proceeded to drive home.  I told him “Daddy loves you and I’m glad you are doing good.  Please don’t scare us like this again.”  There was a happy reunion when we returned home, especially with Cindy as Punky sticks with her like glue.  Of course it was past dinner time by now, but I was assured that Punky would be at the dinner table tomorrow!

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One Comment
  1. bldunham@i2k.com permalink

    As all pet owners know, they are (or become) our children. It hurts to see them in disress when we can not help them. You did well!!

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