Oogy The Dog Only a Family Could Love (4 page)

Diane turned onto the quiet, tree-lined street where the hospital is located in an old Victorian-style home. At the time, AAH carried a staff of six doctors and eight to ten technicians. The hospital also offered the services of two animal specialists one night a week. In addition, AAH leased its facilities and equipment to an after-hours and weekend emergency service owned and operated by two doctors who utilized the hospital’s facilities but were not on staff.

Diane parked behind the hospital. As she did every morning, she came in through the back door, and as she did every morning, the first place she went was the treatment room, where hospitalized and surgical cases were housed, to see if any animals had come in through the ER.

The room was painted in hues of beige and brick and smelled like isopropyl alcohol and adhesive tape. Against the far wall from the entrance were two tiers of three small cages sitting on top of two larger cages. Additional cages lined the two walls on either side; an oxygen cage also sat to the right of the entrance to the room. The bottom of each cage was carpeted with shredded newspaper and had built-in dishes for water and food. Medical instruments were stocked in the drawers of a stainless-steel examination table that stood in the center of the room.

The first thing Diane saw as she entered the room was a white pup lying in one of the small cages against the opposite wall. His head was on the floor between his paws. The left half of his skull was swathed in white gauze stained with blood, held in place by adhesive tape. The pup’s body was spotted with dark, dried blood. Bloody, pus-filled holes and gashes covered the side of his face and the part of his skull not obscured by the bandage. Diane began to seethe as it became apparent to her that the ER had basically done nothing for the poor animal. They had not even bothered to clean off his blood. As soon as Diane walked into the room, the pup lifted his head and his right ear stood at attention; his large, dark eyes looked at her, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. As she stood there transfixed, the dog struggled to his feet, sneezed, and shook his head. Blood droplets sprayed from under the bandage. Then, incredibly, he started to wag his tail.

Diane walked over to the cage past one of the ER physicians, who was standing in the room focusing on some sort of paperwork. She bent and stared at the pup, her nose only inches from his. The pup appeared to be a pit bull or a pit bull mix, but it was difficult to tell exactly because of his swollen and distorted head. Diane’s thoughts slipped to Maddie, then returned to the pup in front of her. She straightened, her eyes never leaving the dog. She pointed to the animal and, without averting her gaze, asked the doctor, “What the
hell
is
that
?”

Somewhat startled, the doctor looked up to see what Diane was talking about and then told her that the dog had been found following a raid and likely had been used as bait. He explained that the police had brought the dog over to the ER for treatment.

The dog sat back down and looked at Diane. The nostrils of his large black nose twitched at Diane’s proximity. The three-by-five-inch cage card read “Male Pit Bull or PB Mix” and showed December 15 as the date of admission. The dog’s age was estimated at three to four months on the cage card, but Diane thought that estimate was high. Looking through the chart, she saw that, in addition to the visible wounds on his head, the left ear and much of the left side of the dog’s face was gone, torn off by the violence that had been inflicted upon him. Diane was astonished by the fact that the pup did not exhibit any signs of the constant, staggering pain she knew he must have been experiencing. She was also amazed by the fact that after what had happened to him, he didn’t seem to be afraid of her. He simply continued to sit in the cage and watch her calmly.

There was untouched food in the cage. The ER staff had cleaned the largest wound on the left side of the pup’s face, given the dog an injection of steroids to counteract shock, and injected him with antibiotics. They had not given him any blood or tried substantively to treat his injuries. The ER staff were not doing what Diane refers to as “above and beyond.” They had expended only the minimal effort needed to keep him alive. No one owned the dog, so there was no one to hold the ER accountable for his treatment or to pay for the effort that it would take to try to repair the damage he had suffered. As a result, Diane learned, the doctor planned on transferring the dog to the SPCA.

From experience, she knew that if the pup was transferred to the SPCA, he would be euthanized.

Aware that the doctor’s likely plans for the pup would lead to his destruction, moved by what he had already endured and his sweet, calm demeanor, and well aware of the magnitude of the fight that lay ahead, Diane asked if the doctor would sign over the animal to her. She wanted to at least make an effort to save the dog’s life. The doctor agreed, because once the transfer had occurred, the dog’s welfare was no longer his responsibility.

Dr. Bianco was upstairs in his office doing paperwork. When he came down to the first floor to begin his day’s rounds, Diane immediately went over to him, the words spilling out of her.

“I need your help,” she said to him. “Will you take a look at this dog who came in over the weekend? He was used as a bait dog. Half his face is missing. The police brought him in and the ER doctor was going to send him to the SPCA, so I had him signed over to me. The SPCA will just destroy him. I want to try to save him. He’s really cute and seems very sweet, and I really feel badly for him.”

Dr. Bianco looked at her and shook his head in mock disbelief. “Oh God, Diane…” He sighed. “Not another one.” Then he smiled and said, “Okay. Let’s go have a look.”

Dr. Bianco followed Diane back into the treatment room, where he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and opened the door to the dog’s cage. He lifted him out and placed him on the examination table. Cradling the dog’s head in his left arm to immobilize him, Dr. Bianco took a scissors from one of the drawers and cut open the bandage. With his right foot, he pressed the pedal that opened the top of the medical waste bin on the floor at the end of the examination table and dumped the bloody wad of gauze and tape into it. Saturated with and stiffened by discharge from the dog’s wounds, the bandage landed with a loud thump, as though it were made out of plaster of Paris. With his right hand, Dr. Bianco stroked the dog’s flank to calm him down and erase his fear. The pup offered absolutely no resistance. Dr. Bianco, too, was astonished that despite everything that had happened to him, and despite the way humans had so obviously mistreated him, the dog exhibited no signs of anxiety. He seemed to understand somehow that the people around him now were different from those who had controlled his life before; that they were kind, even though he had probably never before experienced human kindness.

The pup’s ribs were prominent, which told Dr. Bianco that he was malnourished. His breathing was shallow, but he did not open his mouth for additional air, which was a sign of distress. His head and neck were caked with iodine brown dried blood. His features were horrifically damaged. There were multiple infected puncture wounds on the right side of his face and skull. The left side of his face and forehead were gone. What had been that side of his face, from just back of his muzzle to behind where his ear used to be, was now yellow green pus, oozing blood, and fully infected. All that remained of his left ear was a jagged stump. The tissue surrounding the yawning cavity where the left side of the pup’s face had been was dead and blackened; the rotted flesh smelled like meat that had been left out in the sun for days. The blood vessels on that side of his forehead had been torn apart. And yet, incredibly, although he had to have been in tremendous pain, he gave no indication of it.

Based on the conditions he observed and the extent of ruin and infection he found, Dr. Bianco estimated that the dog had been lying untreated and unattended for five to seven days. He did not want to contemplate what the pup had endured during that period. Despite the fact that the pup had been losing blood the entire time, the ER doctors had not done a blood count or given him any transfusions. In his weakened state, the dog would surely have a difficult time surviving both the extensive infection and the shock of surgical trauma if Dr. Bianco were to operate, and operating offered the only chance of saving the dog’s life.

Dr. Bianco gently removed his elbow and laid the pup’s head down on the table. The dog lay on his side, exhausted; his tail swatted feebly several times. Dr. Bianco rubbed the dog’s neck. Even with the pup’s face so swollen and mutilated, Diane thought that he was undeniably cute. She gently touched the top of the dog’s head and bent over him, her eyes on Dr. Bianco’s face.

Dr. Bianco looked back at Diane. He shook his head in the negative and shrugged. He pursed his lips grimly, then said, “Diane, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can save this dog.”

Diane straightened from where she had been crouched over the pup. She looked into Dr. Bianco’s eyes. “Dr. Bianco,” she said. “You’ve
got
to save this dog.”

Dr. Bianco’s father and his uncles had all been craftsmen who worked with their hands. They were stonemasons, welders, and carpenters who had always taken great pride in what they created for the use of others. Dr. Bianco credits them with having given him the manual dexterity to be an exceptionally effective surgeon. With no other reason than the fact that helpless before him lay a victim of horrific abuse that might possibly be saved, and moved by Diane’s determination that every effort be made to preserve this life, Dr. Bianco started surgery.

The operation lasted several hours. First, Dr. Bianco’s assistant gave the dog general anesthesia. Dr. Bianco then started him on an antibiotic treatment and flushed the hole where his face had been to clean the gaping wound. He cut away the dead tissue and inserted a Penrose drain into the exposed portion of the animal’s face, a plastic tube that came out through an opening Dr. Bianco made in the underside of the jaw. This would allow blood and other fluids to escape, to prevent infection and promote proper healing. After this, he sutured the gaping meat that the dog’s face had become. They transfused blood and liquid nourishment into the dog intravenously.

The dog survived the surgery.

He wasn’t Oogy then. In fact, he didn’t have a name. For superstitious reasons, the staff didn’t name animals whom they didn’t know and didn’t expect to survive. By all rights, this dog should have been nothing more than one of the uncountable number whose lives are lost or destroyed as the result of dogfighting each year. Yet even though the pup had no real prospects for survival, the hospital staff worked together to do everything they could to save him. No one would be there to thank them if they were successful, and there was no one to pay for all the time and effort they were putting in. There was no guarantee that they would accomplish their goal or, if they did, whether the dog would be able to establish a successful, loving relationship with a human or another animal. But they persevered. Their efforts were, in the truest sense, simply a collective exercise in the right thing to do.

The surgery was over, but the dog wasn’t out of the woods: The hospital team soon discovered that their patient would not eat. He would occasionally take a little soft food, but not the quantity that he needed in order to regain his strength; neither did he offer any visual or behavioral clues as to what was interfering with his ability to eat. Dr. Bianco did not know if it was an internal complication or something else. Bloodwork gave no indication of infection. There was a fistula just below where the pup’s left ear had been. Dr. Bianco simply had a gut feeling as to what he needed to do next. He reached into the jaw with a forceps and felt loose bone. He extracted a piece of the dog’s jawbone about the shape and size of a fifty-cent piece. A section of the dog’s lower mandible had been broken off and had been digging into the roof of his mouth whenever he bit down, sending a lightning bolt of pain through his being. He had been in such extensive discomfort that he could not functionally operate his mouth, but he had never showed this. His threshold for pain was extraordinary.

The forty-five-minute procedure to remove the shattered bone enabled the dog to eat again. He began to take solid food on a regular basis and started to gain strength and to put on weight.

Dr. Bianco was in awe of the power of the beast that had inflicted the wounds with which he had had to contend. The dog that had grabbed this pup had a bite forceful enough not just to fracture, but to break off a piece of his jaw. Dr. Bianco had attended seminars given by humane societies and rescue centers to teach veterinarians how to recognize injuries associated with dogfighting. As part of this training, he had seen films of actual fights, and he could easily imagine the scene that culminated in the devastating injuries the pup had suffered. The fighting dog would have grabbed the pup, which would have been howling and bawling and squealing in pain and terror the entire time, and shaken him like a rag, slamming him into the floor, slamming him into the side of the cage had they been in a box. It was nothing short of a miracle, given the pup’s malnourished state, that he had survived the attack at all. To have also survived the subsequent prolonged period of suffering and inattention, the loss of blood and extensive infection, the absence of food and water, and then the surgical trauma was, in Dr. Bianco’s estimation and experience, truly miraculous.

Diane had been aware of all of this, too. Dr. Bianco knew that Diane had had an almost visceral response to what this dog had endured and that her determination to save the dog was in direct proportion to the extent that she sensed he had suffered. She did not want him to die, and she would not let him. She had saved the dog from certain euthanasia and then set in motion the process to provide some semblance of normality in the dog’s life.

For Oogy to have survived all of this certainly suggests that he had to have been fighting to stay alive. But based on what his life had been up to that point, what would have driven that determination? I want to believe that he sensed there was something better waiting for him.