Breaking up a dog fight

In 2012 I broke my ankle breaking up a dog fight. Yes, yes yes…. I know, never get between two large dogs, even your own.

It was the second last day of a three-week cabin building vacation. We’d purchased a cabin package and over the course of the three weeks our friends drove two hours from the city for a few days at a time and helped with the build. As friends left, weary and with blisters on their fingers, other friends would arrive to pick up tools. To this day we bless each and every one of them.

On that last weekend there was just four of us putting the tin on the roof. The last thing to make us weather proof. My husband and I were passing the long pieces of roofing tin up to our friend and a local contractor to be attached to the roof frame with special screws. Each piece took several minutes to attach so in-between I was playing with the dogs.

Norton, our friends dog, was a roamer and had finally been tied up on a very long leash. Larsson, our dog, was sticking around for the people and wasn’t even wearing a collar.

These two had been friends since they were pups, brothers really because they spent so much time together, but that afternoon you’d have thought they wanted to kill each other. And it was all my fault.

I was taking off my work glove and playing a bit of tug and war with them both, and something went wrong. They started fighting, proper dog fighting! I tried pulling Larsson back but without a collar I couldn’t get a good grasp, and he was a big strong golden retriever. As I pulled back he lunged forward and remember Norton was on a long long leash, so even when I got Larsson back Norton could keep coming.

Next thing I know, I’m knocked over and my husband has grabbed Larsson and managed to get him far enough away that the fight stopped. “I’m okay, I’m okay” was my response as I picked up my right leg from where it was twisted behind me, only to see that my foot was pointing the wrong way.

Broken and dislocated, carried to the truck and rushed to the local hospital, put in an ambulance and taken back to the city for surgery.

For three weeks we had worked with no injuries other than the occasional splinter in a finger but that last two days left me with a broken and dislocated ankle and in a cast for several weeks, and both my husband and friend with cuts that left scars as they finished the roof and installed plywood over the empty doorways.

Would we do it again? Build a cabin? Of course we would! It’s quite an achievement. Wreck my ankle, I’d prefer not….but it does add a little something to the story.

P.S. For those of you unfamiliar with small town hospitals, the doctor might not actually be there, and you might have to wait for him to arrive, from the golf course – such a stereotype lol.

P.P.S. My mum and sister were on their way to the cabin to check out the progress when the ankle incident took place, we redirected them to the local hospital and my mum took over for my husband so he could get back to the cabin and help get that darn roof on.