Being Bridget


Welcome to the initial blog of Being Bridget. “The blonde” loved life, lived large and never did anything half-way. Any and all activities were met with her boundless, extravagant and zany energy. Her blonde life was too short, spanning 11 years from 02/17/06-06/10/17.

The Collision


The collision occurred at a Maryland pond near our then home, site of many frequent romps and swims for the lab trio. Bridget was famous for retrieving logs- not- sticks, and fetch was very much on her mind this day.

The old metal skiff pulled up on the bank at pond edge seemed harmless.

 

It was simply another fun outing as I tossed the first stick out to the pond. Bridget raced off, looking backwards for the stick as she ran. When collision with the skiff loomed, I began to think “she does see that boat doesn’t she?”

Impact


The sound of the thud was sickening, the moment forever frozen in time. I tried to fathom that my dog was collapsed in a seemingly lifeless heap. My first panicked thought was “Oh my God, I’ve killed my dog!” I found it hard to comprehend that she might be gone, after previous notable brushes with disaster.  

 

Help!


There was no movement, nothing at all, just a limp heap of my blonde dog. First-Aid training flew out the window. I was too panicked to even check for breathing. My first thought was to call my husband, a few minutes away at home. I doubt he will ever forget hearing “Argil, come now with the car, I think Bridget is dead!”

 

Picture my panicked self, kneeling by “the blonde bomber,” crying, stroking and begging her to live. I guess my prayers were answered and “Bridgey” began to move her head and limbs as Argil arrived. By the time he pulled up she was standing!! It would take more than a full-on collision to finish off my gregarious girl.

The Aftermath


Nothing seemed broken but an evident limp was observed. Naturally we loaded up and hurried off (to yet another) emergency veterinary excursion. After x-rays and examination, diagnosis was a bruised shoulder, latter being main point of impact. At home we began ice-pack therapy for the injured shoulder, as well as anti-inflammation medications.

Bridget was very patient with the icy first-aid, unlike the time she twice removed staples from a gaping flesh wound. However, that is material for another tale! For now, the “blonde bomber” had survived another Being Bridget misadventure.

In Conclusion


I have pondered writing about Bridget for a long time, and I hope you enjoyed the first Being Bridget. There are many stories waiting in the wings. “The blonde” very much deserves this tribute. She was, after all, famously known  for the escapades that made her life a series of adventures.