Whiplash goes to town

Shortly after Tux’s humiliation at the hands of Emma, Terry returned home from work. As we started on the evening sheep chores, I told Terry about Tux’s run-in with Emma. Although the dog was now safely confined to the kennel, the sheep were still agitated over Tux’s noisy rampage. They were milling around the yard, upset and uneasy.

As he made his usual head count of the sheep, Terry noticed Whiplash was walking with a pronounced limp. Tony hovered nearby, trying to keep the other sheep from jostling her. Terry examined Whiplash’s small legs and hooves, seeing no outward signs of damage.

Thinking Whiplash had likely been stepped on by one of the sheep in their upset over Tux, we assumed she had a bruised hoof and decided to wait a day or two to see if her limp would improve. But by the next morning, Whiplash’s limp was much worse. She was a pitiful sight, limping around the sheep yard, unable to join in the games of the lawless lamb gang.

I called the vet clinic to see if the vet would be out in our area that day. His receptionist told me he was doing a small-animal clinic, and he would not be making farm visits until the following day. I thought about it for a moment, then asked the receptionist if I could bring Whiplash to the clinic, since she was small enough to transport in the car.

She said, “Well, we normally see only dogs, cats, and small household pets here at the clinic.” But she agreed to set up an appointment for Whiplash that afternoon.

Terry had the truck at work that day, so the only mode of transportation available was the car, with its light tan leather upholstery. After a few minor skirmishes, I had Whiplash enclosed in a cardboard box. I fastened the lid securely and set the box on the back seat of the car. By the time we reached the end of the driveway, Whiplash had freed herself. She stood on the back seat, doing a slippery dance on the cream-colored upholstery. Despite her limp, she was able to cover the entire seat and the rear window with muddy hoofprints. Again and again, Whiplash struggled to climb into the driver’s seat with me, and I pushed her back. Her high-pitched cries were almost deafening in the small car.

When we arrived at the vet clinic, I tucked Whiplash under my arm and walked in the front door. The waiting room was packed with people and their pets. Most of the patients were dogs. There were also a few cats, but Whiplash was definitely the only sheep in the room.

I took a seat and tried to become invisible. It was not easy to do with Whiplash’s baaing and thrashing and kicking. Before long, she had wriggled out of my arms. On her gimpy leg she managed to make her way down the row of pets and people seated in chairs against the wall. Whiplash paused in front of each one and examined every animal as if she were responsible for making a diagnosis. The elderly woman seated beside me asked, “What kind of dog is that? I’ve never seen one like it.”

We were called into the vet’s office, and he easily diagnosed Whiplash’s problem. An infection had entered her system through her navel when she was newly born, and it was now affecting her joints. The vet gave Whiplash a dose of antibiotics and a steroid to ease her joint pain. Now docile, Whiplash took the doses without complaint. The vet gave me a few syringes of the steroid to administer at home, and he said she would be as good as new in no time. He was right.

“It’s no use trying to get you back into that box, is it?” I asked Whiplash as we headed for the car. I set her on the back seat. With the drugs already taking effect, Whiplash had suddenly regained her high spirits, jumping about in the back of the car as I drove away. She wedged herself into the space between the front bucket seats and nudged my arm, begging for attention. After sucking noisily on my elbow for a minute, she returned to the back seat and then climbed onto the shelf of the rear window.

Whiplash had never before left the farm, and she was captivated by all the new sights. When we stopped at a red light, she tapped her hoof on the rear window, almost as if she were waving to the people in the car behind us. I could see the people in the vehicles around us laughing and pointing. Finally the light changed to green, and we sped home.

When I lifted her out of the car, Whiplash was like a new lamb. Almost all signs of her stiffness and joint pain were gone. Tony was elated at Whiplash’s return, and he met her at the gate, humming happily and nuzzling her small body.