We lived in Pot Hardy, I was a teenager and out for a long jog. I got to the bottom of a long hill and came across an accident scene. A small crowd of people was gathered around a large sized fluffy rez mutt dog who had been run over. The driver who ran him over was there and distraught (and very sorry), as well as witnesses and the family of the dog who'd rushed over from the neighbouring reserve. I jogged up, very worried, and like everyone there, was paralyzed for a moment with indecision on what to do. I then said "I will run home and get my DAD. He will KNOW what to do." A look of relief swept over everyone's face as I ran back home as fast as I could to get the one person I could think of who would know how to handle this crisis.
At home, dad immediately started our old pickup (a mid-80s dodge converted to propane) and raced to the accident scene. The driver was offering to go home and get his rifle and put the dog down. Everyone was in tears or close to it. Dad ran up, took off his jacket, and started telling people what to do. He asked who the owners were, and if they had a warm place in their house where the dog could be brought to die peacefully. The big fluffy dog had been run clean over - twice - according to the driver, as it wasn't just the front tires but the back ones too that ran him over. The vehicle was one of those long 1970s looking muscle cars long past its prime. We learned that this big dog - barely grasping at life - was called Hamburger. The owners said they did indeed have somewhere in their home where the dog could rest in peace.
Dad enlisted help and he very gently slid his jacket under the dog. He then had three other adults help lift Hamburger gently into the back of our truck, the jacket acting as a makeshift stretcher. Family members and bystanders piled into the back as we slowly drove Hamburger home. Once there, we gently moved him from the back of the truck into the furnace room of the house. Dad checked in with the family, and satisfied that Hamburger had been delivered into a loving warm place to breathe his last breaths, we went home.
A period of time later, I don't know how long, I was working outside in downtown Port Hardy. I saw a bit of commotion in the bushes, and out popped a couple of dogs. "HAMBURGER?!?!" I exclaimed with great surprise. One of the dogs was fluffy and large, and looked exactly like the twice-run-over definitely near death dog Dad had gently taken home. Hamburger perked up immediately, smiled with a big lolling tongue, and ran over to me, tail wagging. He wiggled up beside my leg. "Hamburger, I can't believe you're alive!" I said, and reaching down, I could feel where his ribs and bones had broken and somehow healed. There he was, smiling happily away and wagging his tail, against all odds, definitely ALIVE. I couldn't believe it, and neither could Dad. It was amazing.
I told this story to my sons a while ago, and forgot about it, until my youngest reminded me a few days ago. Another story about Dad being a hero, for father's day. XOXO. -jwb
