Being an Emergency Department provider is hard for several reasons.  We make hard decisions with limited (or no) information.  You know when someone is pulled out of the burning wreckage and you see a twisted shell of a car and a body rushed in the Ambulance?  Yeah, they’re coming to us.

That’s what we trained for; and that is what is expected.  No one can control horrible accidents.  No one tries to get pneumonia.  No one tried to get cancer.  No one wakes up, eats breakfast, and then thinks, hmm, today seems like a great day for appendicitis!  None of these are choices.

Unfortunately, sometimes people simply make bad decisions.

*********************************************************************************

So… let’s play the BAD DECISION GAME!!!

*Contestant A*

ME:  Hello there ladies and gents, boys and girls, welcome to the fun and excitement of the ER show!  I’ll be your happy host, Dr. Slicy with all sorts of action-packed fun coming from all angles!  Jonny, tell us a little about our first contestant!

Jonny-Well Dr. Slicy, our first contestant is actually a nice middle-aged gal you took care of only four days ago.  You had admitted her to the hospital after she injected a substance into her veins and began having chest pain.  

ME:  Was it heroin she injected?  Crack?  Morphine??

Jonny- Hahaha!  Oh you!  Of course not, that might actually make horrible twisted sense.  No, you see she injected bath salts (link#1)!

ME:  Did you say bath salts? (link#2)

Jonny-yep

ME:  Well, if he’s injecting aroma therapy directly into his veins, I’m sure he’s one mellow, relaxed guy.  lets take a look

Jonny-Hmm, he doesn’t seem mellow

ME:  Indeed.  Two days ago she came in complaining of horrible chest pain, hallucinations, and feeling like she was going to die.  She was admitted for four days, released from the hospital, and within two hours of being released, HERE SHE IS!  With the exact same complaints she had when you admitted her four days ago.

Looks like you made a BAAAAAAD DECISION!

 

Contestant B (note, this conversation is sadly surprisingly accurate)

ME: Contestant B has been seen in pretty much every ER throughout the country.  She says she is here to get her pee checked.

Jonny- What does that mean?

ME:  Well, it says on her card that her home pregnancy test was positive.  She states that that simply is not possible so she came here to get it checked.

Jonny- But don’t we use the same tests that they have at any local store?

ME: Yes, but if WE tell her she is pregnant, then, um, well, I guess then she’s still pregnant.

Contestant B: “But there ain’t no way I’m pregnant again!”

ME: Did you have sex?

B: Yeah!

ME: Did you use protection?

B: Uh, no, duh!

ME: And you’ve been pregnant before so I assume you know how this happened.

B:  Well, you see, I ain’t the cheatin’ type.  But I was at my cousins wedding, an’ I met this guy, I dunno what his name even is, and we hooked up.

ME: So then you actually are the cheatin’ type.

B: No!  It was just sex, di’in’t mean nuthin.  Gah, if i’m pregnant agin my boyfriend’ll kill me.  

ME:  Well you are pregnant.

B:  Can you give me an abortion?

ME: Me?

B: Yeah

ME:  You want an ER doctor to give you an abortion.  Right now.  Just reach in there an pull out your fetus quick a minute?

B: Why the F*** not?  I can’t keep no baby.  I ain’t no cheater, but I can’t be pregnant.

ME:  Well, you are, as a result of a BAAAAAAAD DECISION!

Jonny- Sorry folks, that’s all the time we have left for today.  Even though we have oodles and oodles more contestants.

**********************************************************************************

I try not to be judgmental.

I try to be respectful and kind.

Sometimes it scares me.

However, doesn’t it seem that as a society we are rewarding bad decisions (warning, some bad language)?

We went to Florida over Spring Break. Well, technically we went right before everyone else went to spring break at the beginning of April. We drove an RV down there, renting it with friends of ours.

There were:
5 adults and
4 children,
3 of the children were age
2 or under all in
1 RV.

How did it go? Somewhere in between better than expected and ice-pick to the groin. Actually the kids really did quite well. The way down was filled with myself and Superman playing Final Fantasy I on PSP while driving through gale force winds and rain that seemed to be going sideways instead of down. This was the good weather.

Oh, also the RV did not have what we in the car savvy world like to call “any handling at all.” You could turn the wheel about a full 1/3 turn in either direction without the RV moving. This put the driver in a continuous state of over-correcting back and fourth to try to stay in (or at least near) the center of the lane. You how they drive in the old sitcoms where the driver is

I will say I was a BIG fan of being able to stand up and stretch while driving. I was an even BIGGER fan of being able to get up and pee, considering I drank about 3 pots of coffee during the night shift of driving.

Florida itself was completely awesome. I did end up BBQing in the rain one day, but that was all good fun. Brother-in-law Randy and I went out canoeing and fishing and managed to catch a fair amount. A good relaxing time was had by all.

When we picked up the RV, we managed also to have torrential rain as well. This video I took while driving said RV (cause when it’s hard enough to simply stay on the road, the smart thing to do is take a video while driving…) does not quite do the weather justice.

Weeee!

I try to be the most upbeat and optimistic guy I know.

Sometimes I succeed, other times I fail.

However, even with my attempt at ever-cheerful always-positive constant-hyphen-usage, sometimes I still have days that no matter what I do, I still end up being on the receiving end of a steamy poop casserole.

The day started like most, with me slowly gaining consciousness to my beautiful daughter asking for my wife.  I am the runner up winner in my daughters world.  Mom first, second, and third, and if she is really REALLY not around, and she has asked (where is mommy?) 223,387 times without me saying “ta-dah!” right behind you… then I am OK.

So I go to work. 

Now I know on some planet, people ease into their days at work.  They go get a cup of coffee, check a few emails, chit-chat the shi-shat at the water cooler or something like that.  It was in the first four seconds of my arrival that I realized today was not going to be the sunniest Care Bear filled lollipop of a day.  The first thing I saw when I entered the ER was the charge nurse.  His first words to me were:

“Yougotta furnnyGobber Summa PRIORITY ONE gobber bobby fabba!”

I wake up slowly, so I was not quite catching everything he said, just the important parts.  Captain Priority One was a nice gentleman who over the several years of smoking gradually forgot how to do certain things that come naturally to most people.  Like breathing.

The day continued downhill from there in a busy, rock-em sock-em-filled,  feculant-vomit filled ,GI-bleed-filled, covered in some other persons diarrhea-blood-filled-and-also-hyphen-filled day.

So, to those who ask.  Yes, I do have bad days.

However, I am still trying to make baby number two, and as it turns out, practicing is quite fun.

She was bleeding, a terrifying experience for any woman early in her pregnancy.

He was drunk, dumb, and deranged, an irritating experience for any ER doc…

Fate crossed their paths, and the rest just makes for an interesting story.

The story starts with Preggo, who called her physician. Her doctor told her to come straight to the ER and get evaluated since she had lost a significant amount of blood. Her boyfriend/husband/baby-daddy came with her as they waited to be seen.

I saw and evaluated them. She was scared and frustrated with the situation, not knowing what was happening but assumed the worst. She must be miscarriaging! I tried to explain that many women bleed in the first trimester, but we will run tests and get an ultrasound to check everything out. I don’t blame her for being scared, and maybe a little bit neurotic and angry, this is a bad day for any woman.

Granted anytime a woman has vaginal bleeding, I really can’t see it as being fun, unless it is like this…

Unfortunately for my nervous patient, this all occurred on a Friday night in the ER. Thus, many other patients also were being seen, many of them because they had drank themselves stupid with alcohol.

She was taken to ultrasound, still pretty much having the worst day of her life. This is where the nuttiness starts.

Random drunk (RD) starts yelling to nice nurse (NN)

RD: “I’z gozza go fu za baaaaasssroom!”

NN: “That’s why we brought the urinal in there for you sir”

RD: “Huh?”

NN: “The urinal. Right there. The thing your hand is resting on… yes, that. The thing you are now holding in the air, please urinate into that.”

RD: “But I hazzur ter go piss.” (he said as if she didn’t quite understand)

NN: “I understand, sir. Please go into that container.”

So she goes off to take care of one of her many other patients. I also leave into another patients room. Random Drunk, confused by the cryptic message from the nurse, assumes that she wanted him to wander the halls in search of a bathroom.

Now I’m only guessing from here what went on in his drunken stupor,
but I’m pretty sure it went something like this…

***Entering Drunk-o-vision***

…he staggers across the hall into the bathroom…

“Ah, verily have I found the location for relief of my ever-so-full bladder. Henceforth I shall relieve myself.”

…sound of peeing on the floor, with perhaps some urine actually making it into the toilet, or maybe the sink…

“Chastise me? How dare they, why I have not had more than a mere pint of the finest spirits and my insight is hardly altered. Now I must return to the room from whence I came.”

…the intimidating quest of finding his room has begun…

“Egads! My hospital residence has disappeared! Well, I am sure that this room here was the one from whence I came. And they thought for a moment that I was too impaired for such a minor task, what silly healthcare professionals they are!”

…He staggers into the pregnant womans room…

“Why, what is this! Some fine upstanding citizen has left new clothing for me, or perhaps these clothes are mine. Hmm, either way someone has soiled these garments with copious amounts of blood. No matter!”

…Drunk starts putting on the (significantly smaller) pregnant womans clothing…

***Drunk-o-vision off***

So this is the exact time where she is being wheeled back from ultrasound. We hear “WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING!” We quickly go to the room and find him putting her clothes on. He’s confused that we are yelling at him. She is confused as to why a random drunk guy is putting on her clothes.

So we apologize profusely to the young woman, who, as it turns out is doing fine and her baby is doing fine. So she is actually now quite happy and pleasant. We offer to dry clean her clothes or new clothes but she pretty much infers that she’d be happy if we just burned them after she saw the large drunk man in her soiled clothes.

Time passed, everyone did fine, and I had just another day in the ER.

Oh, here’s some pics of Drunk-o-vision I found on google images… Pretty close I’d say.

Being an ER physician is very challenging.  On a daily basis I am reminded that many people out there have the intelligence ranging somewhere in between an eggplant and a dachshund… and I might be insulting wiener-dogs by saying this.

So I go into the patients room, who is here for an assault.  I try to have great compassion for anyone who has been assaulted, regardless of the circumstances.  I once got punched in the face at a video arcade over tokens.  I didn’t know the price for NOT giving said tokens was a black eye or I possibly would have reconsidered.  However, considering at the time my near rapturous love for Galaga and pinball, I think I would still have rather had the black eye than give away my allowances worth of tokens.

I walk into the room.  I find mom.  Here’s the conversation, which I am embellishing, but surprisingly little.

Me (handsomely):  “Hi, I’m the doctor here to evalu-”
Mom (sighing): “She’s in the shower.”
Me (confused): “Excuse me?”
Mom (smug):  “She’s in the shower”
Patient (drunken shouting):  “I’M IN THE SHOWER!”
Me (still confused) “Why is she in the shower, I’m here to evaluate her…”
Mom (not sure) “I’m not sure
Patient (drunken slurred speech) “I WAS COLD!”
Mom “She was Cold”

<I should pause here to explain there is only 1 room in the Emergency department with a shower, just in case patients need to rapidly be cleaned from chemical exposures, etc.  She did not have chemical exposure.  She had been exposed to chronic stupidity, but showers help this very little.>

Me (a little frustrated) “But, she’s here to be seen, right”
Mom (also frustrated) “The doctor’s here to see you!”
Patient (drunken anger) “I’M TAKING A SHOWER, TELL HIM TO COME BACK LATER!”
Mom (embarrassed) “Can you come back later”
Me “I guess I’ll come back later”

So I leave the room, still confused.  She continues to take her shower.

I go on to my next patient, he is 16, and he has back pain, I’ll call him Jimbo, because typing ‘incompetent douchebag’ over and over takes too much space.

ME (awesomely) “Hi there Jimbo, what brings you in,”
Jimbo (Deeerp!)  “I gots me some back pain,”
ME (still sweet)  “Ok, when did this start”
Jimbo (Derrrr)   “I dunno”
Me “…”
Jimbo “maybe 3 weeks ago?”
Me “Are you asking me?  Alright.  What did you do”
Jimbo (slightly angry that I’m distracting him from watching TV) “I dunno.  Nothing.  My BACK hurts.”
Me “Yes, I understand that.  Where does it hurt in your back.”
Jimbo “It hurts IN my back.”
Me  “Right.  WHERE in your back does it hurt?”
Jimbo (while leaning forward, twisting all over, reaching down for the dropped remote, then twisting the other way, all without the slightest amount of difficulty or distress) “it hurts EVERYWHERE!”
ME (Getting a little miffed) “I see.  It says here you have 10 out of 10 pain,”
Jimbo (also getting miffed) “That’s wrong”
Me (a little relieved)  “Oh?”
Jimbo (while yawning and leaning over to the side to see the TV better) “Yeah, I told the nurse that it’s actually 20 out of 10 pain, but she only wrote down 10!”
Me (turning off the TV) “I see, did you take anything for it?”
Jimbo : “Yeah, my step dad gave me some Norco (which as you may know is stronger than vicodin) for it.  That helped, but it still hurts now.
Me:  “ah”

So I examine Jimbo and find nothing.  I then leave this room and order some muscle relaxer.  This annoyed him as well since he wanted IV narcotic pain medicine.  Did I mention he is 16 with no health problems?

Back to the drunken princess, who has finished her shower

Her “I have 10/10 pain”
Me “But you just walked up to my desk, asking if you could go smoke, you don’t appear to have any pain.  At all”
Her (drunkedly) “I have a high pain tolerance.  My pain tolerance is really high so I don’t ever complain.  Can I get something to eat, and gimme some Vicodin.”
Me …(about to say something, but I am called out of the room)

I do orderr some Xrays to be sure nothing is wrong (nothing is wrong (shocker))

A child is brought in.  The kid has the exact same birthday as my daughter.  He is amazingly cute.  Unfortunately the beautiful child accidentally pulled boiling water onto himself.  The parents are frantic and the kid is wailing uncontrollably.  The child has 2nd degree burns over the face, chest, arms and legs.  Multiple layers of skin are sloughing off and other areas have very large blisters.  The nurses and I work quickly to start an IV, get pain medicine and attend to the badly burned child.  The 22 month old kid is an absolute trooper and mom and dad (all things considered) do amazing as the kiddo gets some pain relief with many small aliquots of morphine.  The kid’s pain gets under control and we get him ready to transfer to the burn unit. 

My heart is racing, but we did a great job.

Now back to the other patients.

Me “Hey Jimbo, how’s your back pain?”
Jimbo “My what?”
Me “Your back pain, remember?  How do you feel?”
Jimbo  “Oh, I guess it’s down to a 9/10 (while he eats cheetos and drinks his pop)”
Me “9 out of 10, huh.  So it’s difficult to think of any pain worse than what you have right now?”
Jimbo  “Yeah, I have really bad pain”
Me (thinks about the 22month old covered in burns) Great.  Here’s a script for motrin and a muscle relaxer.”
Jimbo “WHAT?!  You mean you’re not prescribin’ me Norcos?  Not even Vicodin?”
Me “No.  I don’t prescribe healthy 16 year olds with no problems narcotic medicine.”
Jimbo “Well, I’m just going to go to another hospital then”
Me “You are welcome to do that, but I’m still not giving you Norco.”

I leave, he’s discharged.  I visit the inebriated showering princess again, to tell her everything is normal.  She’s angry as well since she is VERY drunk and I won’t give her Vicodin right now for her pain.  She has a hard time telling me where, precisely, her pain is, but she wants narcotics for it doggonit!  Every Xray is negative and she is discharged.  Also quite angry at me.

So maybe this is just me venting, but that’s a typical shift. For every 1 real patient, I see two retarded patients.  Well, that’s not true, since actually most of my actually mentally challenged patients are quite pleasant, I would not want to insult the retarded.  At least that day I was able to help someone who really needed help, so that’s good. 

Have you ever had one of those days?

You know, one of those days where everything seems to be turned against you.  You can’t get your car started (shoot).  You spill your coffee on your way to work (rats!).  Also, you fall (while naked) and land on a flashlight and (doggonit!) it lodges itself deep into your colon and you can’t get it out (illuminating)?

I know we’ve all had days like that, right?

Complete accident, you know how that goes, right? 

Hmm… how could that go?

Maybe her bathroom lights had gone out and she slipped in the shower with it.  Perhaps that’s how it happened.  Or maybe robbers stole all her clothes in the middle of the night… and she slipped while chasing them away.

Or, um, maybe, now this is a stretch, JUST MAYBE, you shoved that thing in there?  Perhaps?  Ma’am?  Is that in any way, shape, or form possible?  No? 

R E A L L Y?  Ok, whatever, we’ll see what we can do to get it out… or do you want us just to change the batteries?

ps, this image is from google images, I’m thinking this guy just wanted his poop to sparkle…

Yesterday we flew down to Florida to visit my parents.  Please note that this was after working the night and not getting any sleep before the trip.  Premonition for catastrophe?  Perhaps.

<In my head: “I’ve done all nighters before, I’ll be on a plane, no big deal”>

The first half of the trip actually went pretty well.  I fell asleep pretty quickly during the flight.  My daughter collapsed as well, which was good.  Roughly half way through our flight my lovely wife woke me up and pointed to my daughters onesy

<In my head: “No big deal, just a little poop, I’m dealing with poop nearly everyday”> 

Her outfit started out white… it was now greenish-brown halfway up her back.  She had blownout, however, on a plane it ups the degree of difficulty.  We maneuvered into the bathroom while  holding our cute but stinky disaster.  Next problem, the tiny airplane bathroom had no  changing table.  Wife and Sam then work against each other to try to get her out of her clothes, cleaned up, and into new clothes in cramped airplane bathroom.

<In my head: “My wife rules, she can handle anything”>

This would be normally be a tough enough task.  However, shortly after getting into the bathroom the pilot comes on overhead and tells us that there will be very heavy turbulence and to immediately get  to our seats.
My wife frantically cleans and wipes the majority of stool off Samantha and changes her as fast as possible. 

VROOOOMP!  (That’s the sound of insanely huge turbulence in an airplane)

<In my head: “HOLY S*#&!!”>

I rush to the bathroom while the flight attendants yells at me.  Wife and child are fine, she hands me our (now miraculously clean) daughter and I get back to our seats while wife tries to collect the poop covered remains of clothing.  Whew… disaster over.

<Overhead Pilot voice> “If any doctors are on the flight, please come to the forward cabin”

Crap!  Well, an ER doc is probably as good of a choice as any to help out in this situation.  My wife comes back to our seats.  I hand over Samantha and make it up to the front despite the pretty intense turbulence that’s happening at the time.  As it turns out, one of the flight attendants had been thrown to the ground during the big turbulence and landed on her back.  She appeared to be in pretty bad pain, and the helpful passengers, who were a little freaked out by the heavy turbulence, but still wanted to help, kept throwing pillows on her so we had roughly 23,230 pillows on top of her. 

<In my head: thank goodness, more lifesaving pillows, mostly hitting me in the face>

I managed to dig her out of her pillowy sarcophagus to take a quick history and physical.  She had no neurological symptoms, no neck pain, no head pain, just pain in her lower back.  Other helpful passengers started draping every blanket on the plane over her in order to secure her in place.  The problem of course is that she was in the center of the aisle, laying on her already hurt back, while we periodically had bad turbulence which threw her back onto the hard aisle on her back. 

<In my head: I’m pretty sure this is just a back sprain>

I rechecked her neurological status and suggested we try to get her to a seat.  By this time she was nearly mummified by the blankets and helpful people.  We managed to get her up and into a seat where she did quite well.  I had to talk to the pilot and, with a courage and compassion seen normally only in saints, explained how I was pretty sure we could just keep going to our destination.

<In my head: She’s fine!  Lets get to Florida!>

Some one was very helpful and got me the defibrillator while I checked out her back.  That might have come in handy if someone threw one more fricking pillow at me… 

<In my head: BRRRZZZZAP!  Now keep your damn pillow, I don’t need any more>

I made my way back to my seat, which was pretty awkward since everyone looked at me for news on the dying patient.  I gave lots of thumbs up and OK signs… but I didn’t want to pretend to be a hero  for diagnosis a sprained back. People clapped when I got back to my seat.  I sat there and grinned sheepishly.  That’s right, I’m a hero, I managed to help a lady to a chair.

However when I got off, the pilot took me aside and told me to meet the front gate representative.  Now I was worried.  Did her status decline after I had left her seat.  She was escorted off the plain by EMS…

<In  my head: oh crap oh crap oh crap!  did I miss something?>

As it turns off, they just wanted to thank me and gave me a gift certificate, which was very nice.  My wife… who I had left back in her seat had managed to turn a light shade of green during the rest of the flight due to turbulence, but managed to make it without getting sick. 

Overall, quite the adventure.  All this before we even started our vacation. 

<In my head: Next trip to Florida, we’re going to drive>

So my sister crashed while sledding.  Anytime anyone crashes while sledding, it is awesome, this was no exception.  Here’s a video my brother in law posted to facebook before we even got to the ER.

Now, you have to understand that we were celebrating a late Christmas and we were sledding before opening presents.  After she crashed, using the skills that I have acquired as a physician, I proceeded to immediately keep sledding and ignored my sisters pain.  Then, after sledding, I went over to my sister and noticed that she wasn’t, technically, using her leg.  I read somewhere that that is bad.  Thus, using my diagnostic skills, I told her to suck it up and kept playing.

Later, I checked her out, and with my deep compassion I decided that she was fine and we should unwrap presents…  after that, we ate pizza and then her non-stop pain was enough to convince us to go to the emergency department.

I was sure it was a sprain, but my crazy sister has had several sprains before and thought it was worse.  I tried to convince her it was nothing, but off we went anyways. 

So we got an X-ray and she got some Vicodin and everything was fine.  She selfishly didn’t give any of the Vicodin to her inebriated brothers.  What a meany.  She got an aircast and crutches.  Just as I thought.

Insert 5 days time.  I got a call from her at work.

Turns out her foot had gotten more swollen and more painful despite Vico-snacks and rest.  So she went to the medi-center and got another X-ray.  This time… broken!  So I went back and re-reviewed her first X-rays.  Still looked fine, no sign of any fracture.  Oh well.  So she broke her fibula, and her trust in her doctor brother.  At least we had yet another memorable Xmas.

On a completely separate not, everytime Samantha watches this video, she cackles like some insane witch.  Not sure why, but please try it on your children to see if they have the same result:

Yesterday was 10/10/10.

Here’s the cool, mathy stuff

Some people think that this date has special significance.  They, of course, are morons.  The special significance for my family is that it was the day where my daughter visited me while I visited Chicago.  That sounds special right?  Well she also was sick.  She also hadn’t pooped in >24 hours.

That’s a big deal when you usually poop every 8 hours like clockwork.  Also she’s teething, and has a fever. 

For those of you who do not have children, you may be surprised to find out that they can actually produce and maintain the exact sound frequency that will shatter your skull.  My little treasure proceeded to do that for a 3.5 hour car ride.

Granted, I was in my own car, my wife (who deserves a solid gold statue dedicated to her love and patience) drove the car with Samantha in it.  We stopped numerous times.  The trip took about three times the normal length.  That is never a good thing.

I don’t write this to gain pity (please send checks payable to…), nor admiration.  I also don’t write this as a form of birth control for those of you yet to make your own spawn adorable rays of sunshine.

I write this because I came across the silver lining.  When I got home, we (me and baby-girl) looked for anything to amuse her.  Anything to make her smile.  Anything that would take the edge off an otherwise horrible no-good very-bad trip home.  And I came across this, and it made everything, well, not better, but at lease not quite so bleak.

Enjoy.

I love dogs.  This is a story about a dog I don’t love.  That dog was named Bum.  Bum tried to ruin my happy outlook on life, and possibly my entire childhood.  Here’s how.

The warm sunshine smiled down upon our family as our newest member smiled a broad sloppy grin.  My dad told us that he was (thus the whole family was) dog-sitting for one of his acquaintances just for the weekend.  My father is simultaneously the most generous, most hilarious, and kindest man you might ever meet.  However, in this regard, sometimes evil preys upon the kind ones.

It all started out well enough, as these things do.  Bum grinned his dog grin and slobbered his dog slobber and acted like any dog might in an unfamiliar territory; that is, of course, by peeing in every single houseplant it can find.  Though, in hindsight this was kindness from Bum, since later he would forgo the “I’m just visiting” politeness and pee wherever he was standing.

Bum was aptly named.  Now I can’t prove that the dog magically turned dog food into vodka, but  he often acted that way.  Also, he had the intellect of a potato.  He also could not stop running.  As I’ve stated previously, all people have superpowers, perhaps dogs as well.  Bum could run.  He ran and ran and ran, but he never stopped.  I’m not sure if he could stop once he started.  He was like the Energizer Bunny’s mentally retarded cousin.

The weekend Bum stayed with us went unsurprisingly slow.  In his drunken, continuously urinating stupor, Bum quickly made enemies of the entire family except for me.  I figured I would still try to like him even though he was dumb, destructive, and had less control of bodily function than a 2 month old.  I realize that no one should hate any other living thing, but Bum went the extra mile via stupidity. 

He had never been house trained.  Somehow, we thought that we could fix that problem quickly.  When he proceeded to make a gigantic dump in the living room, we brought him back to the large poop.  The dog looked quizzically at us, wondering where it had come from.  He also liked to eat.  Anything.  Walls, carpet, plants, clothes, you name it, he’d give it a try.  Somehow, he also found a way to create unique odors that could melt steel.  However his primary problems was just running away from the house. 

Granted, Bum never bit anyone.  No.  That would have been too easy, since then he would be dangerous and, well, you know, you’ve seen Old Yeller, right?  I think my brother might have tried to get Bum to bite him, just to take one for the team to frame the dog.  But he continued to stupidly look forward, peeing on himself and slobbering all over the tattered remnants of what was once a cassette tape collection.

Finally, after the weekend, my father took Bum back to his owners.  His owners informed my dad that “oh, we don’t want Bum back, you can keep him.”  I’m pretty sure this has to be illegal somehow.  But, they used some Jedi mind trick on my dad and we ended up with Bum at our house.

Now here’s where I got stupid (more so than normal).  It was a Sunday afternoon, and we had all just gotten back from church.  Bum was in the garage, where he lived, since we could not let him outside since he seemed, Forrest Gump-like, to be unable to stop running once he started. 

So, in my church clothes, I decided to walk Bum around the garage.  We had a big garage and for some reason, Bum seemed to finally get it.  We ran in tight circles over and over and Bum worked right with me!  He stayed right on his leash.  I couldn’t believe it!  This was a breakthrough.  When I slowed, he slowed, when I stopped he stopped, when I ran, he ran.  I slight tug on the leash and he stopped.

It was simply amazing.

This is the part where I wish I could tell you I didn’t do something incredibly stupid. 

Then I did something incredibly stupid.

Now, please remember, at the time I was quite young, I’m guessing 9 (or 12, or 22).  I might not have weighed more than the dog.  But somehow, I felt confident, CONFIDENT I tell you, that we had finally built a rapport.  My parents told us NOT to let out the dog since it bolted every time it was let out.  But, I felt the connection.  Bum and I finally had a link. 

I opened the door to the garage.  The rest of the story is a haze due to the severe arse-whooping the dog then proceed to lay down on me.

After the first 200 yards of being dragged behind a freedom crazed dog through the woods behind our house, I realized that I might be in a little bit over my head.  However, my arm was stuck in the leash, and Bum didn’t really mind the extra weight.  I yelled for help but my family was inside.  Insert another 1,000 yard of being dragged through mud, grass, dirt, leaves, trees, shrubs, briers, and every sort of backyard foliage once could find and I finally manged to get my arm out.  Bum zipped off to the horizon, happily peeing and crapping as he went.

Ow  +  Oops  =  Ooowps. 

I dragged my tattered, bloodied church-clothes wearing self back to my house.  My parents, thankfully, were concerned about my health.  My brothers, as per my memory, had to leave the room so they would not wet themselves from laughing so hard. 

We did manage to find Bum eventually.  He was over a mile from the house, at the local Dairy Queen. 

Actually, now that I think of it, I don’t remember exactly what finally happened to Bum.  I’ll just assume he’s in doggy heaven now, drooling over everything, running aimlessly in no particular direction, making yellow stains on poofy white clouds.

RIP you stupid bastard.