Sunday morning I decided to sleep instead of head to the beach (and spend extra gas money to get there). I opted for the local Spring Hammock Preserve where for years we have hiked through the woods and along Soldier's Creek. The section of the preserve we frequent is all natural with lush winding trails through deep woods that are only sparsely maintained by man. There are many places along these trails where we have to negotiate our way through thick palmetto brush, over fallen trees, under huge ones and tangle with the occasional spider web.
It’s about a mile hike about a mile through the fern lined paths to get to the part of the route that meanders alongside Soldier’s Creek, which is Vixen's favorite part of the preserve. There's nothing like splashing around in the babbling creek under the shady canopy of pine, oak and cypress trees. I’ve even been known to take off my shoes and jump in the cool, tea colored water or sit on a downed tree and dangle my feet like a school girl while the chorus of leaves and bugs mask the faintest sound of modern civilization.
Vixen typically runs along the trail staying on the beaten path circling back to make eye contact with me before running off again to the edge of where I can just see her. This is how we were trained to work together. She is always within eyesight and always under voice command. I keep an eye out for danger and, while I have seen a few non-poisonous corn snakes they quickly slither away into the safety of the brush.
During this time of year we try to get there early before the sun is high and the heat stifling. On this Sunday, we followed our favorite trail heading toward the creek with Vixen running ahead and back as usual. Right at a bend where I have to do some tricky maneuvering around a thin, knotty pine tree with lots of roots and a fallen oak tree, Vixen ran ahead and I could just see her at the next bend. She smelled something and had her nose in the air. She seemed to be checking out the trees above head, which isn't normal - she usually doesn't recognize anything above shoulder height. Her nose was straight up, sniffing hard.
She bolted into the brush to the left of the trail, barking like mad. “Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!” I saw four or five baby wild hogs scramble across the path where Vixen had disappeared. “Oh shit!” I had never seen any indication of wild boar in the preserve, certainly no droppings or divots in the ground to indicate there was anything like that in the area. Regardless, that meant there was a mama nearby and, sure enough, I heard snorting, grunting and lots of cracking wood. Then a squeal from Vixen and a whimper. More grunting.
I ran up to where Vix had run into the brush and started calling her name at the top of my lungs. “Vixen! Vixen!” Like that was gonna do any good. More grunting... ANGRY sounds..... Then silence. I stood on the path, frozen with fear. I was going to have to go into that dense thicket to get my fur child's body. Hopefully, she'd only be hurt a little and not seriously maimed, or worse, dead, because of this beast.
Wild boar are very dangerous. They can kill humans very quickly and very easily. Those tusks are not something you want to face, especially completely unarmed. A mad mama boar will think nothing of charging anything she feels is a danger to her kiddos and she will not stop at just threatening you or letting you know that you are not welcome in her territory. I felt the adrenaline pulse through my body. My knees started shaking and I seriously thought I was going to pass out right there on the path.
Visually I found the mama boar through an opening in the brush about twelve feet from me. She was huge! At least to my hips, maybe waist in height and about that big around. She was dark as coal and looking, thankfully, not in my direction but directly back from where we had come. Desperately I hoped Vixen was not in her line of sight either. I didn't really register how precarious a position I was in and started screaming Vixen's name again, “Vixen!” The brush up in the direction where the mama was looking rustled noisily. I started running back up the path in that direction praying it was Vixen I heard in the thicket and that the mama was not also following the sounds.
I climbed over the fallen oak tree and rounded the knotty pine roots rather clumsily but was rewarded with the sight of Vixen coming out of the brush and onto the path. She ran toward me with a huge grin on her face. I kneeled down, scooped her up all the while running back toward the head of the trail. After a little while, I decided we must be safe and started checking Vix as best I could while still holding her and heading to the Subaru. Both of us were panting like we'd just finished the Boston Marathon. Huge friggin' gash on her belly just above her back left leg....it was bleeding, but not gushing. I didn't see any other bloody spots, but that didn't mean there wasn't more damage.
As I rounded the last curve toward our Subaru one of the hikers we've encountered quite a few times through the years sprinted toward me and asked if we were okay. He saw the gash and said that I needed to get her to the vet immediately – “DUH! Ya think?” I told him about the boar and he was also surprised. I was somewhat relieved that I hadn't missed any obvious clues. I'm not overly protective, but I am quite cognizant of the dangers of Florida wildlife. We don't swim or play around water where there are obviously gators or even the semblance of gator-friendly habitat. We don't go near gopher turtle habitats because of their symbiotic relationship with coral snakes and I certainly would not have been in that area of the preserve if I had any inkling there was dangerous wildlife there. There are parts of the preserve that we do avoid specifically because of the gators that live at Lake Jessup. We also don't frequent the preserves where there are known wildcats and black bear.
I beelined it to the Subaru and, once there, I gave Vixen some water, checked her out a little more thoroughly and then high-tailed it to the 417 heading toward our veterinarian’s office on Goldenrod Rd. There's an emergency vet clinic less than a mile down the road from the vet. I hoped and guessed that one of them would be open. I called the vet while we were on the way and the attendant put me on hold immediately - no big deal - that meant they were open! When she came back on the line I told her about the encounter with the boar and that I wanted to make sure Vix was okay and that the wound wasn't too bad. I tried to sound calm, more for my sake than hers. (It certainly wasn’t for Vixen who seemed rather excited about our little adventure.) She said she'd see if they could squeeze me in.
"I'm sorry, maybe you don't understand. My dog has been mauled by a wild boar. I am coming and I am less than five minutes from your office."
“Oh, okay. We'll see you soon, then."
As soon as I arrived, they took me to one of the examination rooms and the nurse took Vixen's temperature. Normally Vixen doesn't much care for the thermometer up the butt and tries to maneuver herself out of the way, but today she just stood there looking at me like, "Come on, Mom! After all our excitement today, you're gonna let them do this to me?"
The vet checked her out. He mercifully took her to the back room where I was spared seeing them clean the wound and bend her every which way to Sunday to see if she hurt her back, legs, or had any other muscle damage. He brought her back and gave me instructions on cleaning the wound, which was too dirty for stitches. He said he'd love to be able to stitch the wound, which was about four inches long and about three inches wide, but it was just too dirty. Surgery was an option, but the best thing, really, he said, was to keep the wound as clean as possible and to let it heal on its own.
He instructed me to watch the other bruising and scratches which spanned her whole upper belly and off to the sides. He said to also keep an eye out for signs of internal bleeding and damage. I spent the next two days following her around the yard checking pee and poop for blood. I lay in the cool grass, on the scorching patio, the soft carpet, next to Vixen wherever she was.
We went back to the vet a few days later and by then the wound was clean enough to stitch. Hallelujah! Now we are stitched, healed and ready for yet another adventure. Hopefully the next one will put less strain on the body, the nerves and the bank account.