You Find Out Who Your Friends Are...

...When you've got your head stuck in the fuel filler tube of a '47 Jeep.

I was going to title this something like "Communication and Community", but then I decided that this ain't no essay we're doing here: This is life.

We had a little excitement last night. At the risk of making this the All-Little Bear-All-The-Time blog, as if Lew Rockwell were running him for president or something, yes. It involved something Little Bear did.

Visually, it was something absolutely hilarious. Toward the end somebody took a picture with one of those camera phones, and if I can get a copy on my 'pooter I'll post it. In every way but visual, there was nothing funny about this.

It was shaping up to be another quiet evening, just the way I like them. With the spring wind I haven't been able to keep my water heater reliable, and with the heat I was getting kinda ripe. So I rigged a field-expedient hot water source by stringing together a whole bunch of garden hose (we've got lots: Thanks, I) that runs back and forth in the sun. Works great! And with the weekenders gone there was no good reason to run it in through the bathroom window: I just took my shower in the yard. I was feeling very mellow and pleased with myself. That was about to change.

Along about seven I retired to the lair to read my book. None of the boys wanted to come in yet, it was just too nice out. But that was okay: The bugs aren't bad yet, so I've got the door bungied open and the doorway covered with a blanket. The boys can come and go as they please.

A few minutes after I reclined on my couch with my book, Little Bear started to scream. I heard Magnus and Fritz go crazy. Fortunately I was still wearing my leg, so I was able to bolt out into the yard without delay.

Off to one side of the yard is a ... well, you might call it a junk pile. We call it "the jeep". One of the stakeholders had bought this '47 parts jeep, took it apart, and used a bunch of it to resurrect a second jeep. The rest of it is pretty much just laying there next to my yard now, including the body tub which is sitting on the ground and very slowly returning to the earth. Normally, except for the occasional rat hunt, this pile of parts is not a source of much excitement. In fact I rarely give it much thought.

Except now there was a roiling pile of dogs at one side of the tub, and one of them was screaming. I hustled over, and saw...

Well, I saw Little Bear's head inside the tub. I saw Little Bear's body outside the tub, surrounded by two huge and very upset older dogs. For some reason (Why, why WHY did you think this was a good idea?) Little Bear had pushed his head through the filler tube on the side of the tub, and he couldn't get it back out. He did what any puppy would do in a case like this: He panicked and was practically killing himself trying to extricate his head.

Oh, shit! I had to beat Magnus and Fritz away from him; they were helplessly milling around, desperate but unable to do anything. I knelt and calmed the puppy, but no matter what I did I wasn't able to get his head out of there. There was a sharp flange around the inside of the tube, pressing against his throat. I don't know how he got his head in there, but getting it back out was impossible without killing him.

I wanted my telephone, but knew it was pointless. I've got one of those pay-as-you-go Tracfones, and like a crazy fool I'd let the time run out. There are two ways to add time to a Tracfone: You can do it on-line if you've got plastic (I don't), or you can go to town and buy time at the dollar store (I didn't). I was stuck! I couldn't save Little Bear without help, but I couldn't go get help without killing him: Left alone, he'd panic again and strangle himself.

The light was going and the moon wouldn't be up for hours. I tried again to get his head out, and failed again. I was wasting time: I had to chance running for help. So I jumped in the Jeep (the one that works) and raced to D&L's property. D came without delay: We raced back to the property. I grimly jumped out and ran back to the tub, half expecting to find the puppy dead. But bless him, he'd stayed calm enough and was still well. Magnus gave me hell when I got back ("We've got an emergency here and you just ran off for a Jeep ride? Are you crazy?") and D and I assessed the situation. We agreed that we were never going to get the little guy out of there without cutting that flange in a couple of places and prying it away from his neck. D reached for the telephone on his belt to call his wife L to bring his Sawzall and a metal blade, and only then seemed to notice that he wasn't wearing any pants. So he jumped in the Jeep and drove to J&H's house.

Now, J had only the other day taken delivery on a lovely set of reconditioned Ridgit cordless tools, of which he was very proud. J&H came in their big pickup, right behind D. We all crowded around the puppy and re-assessed the situation in the light of all this new capacity. The boys found this very exciting, and J wanted me to put them in Gitmo. I had strong doubts of the wisdom of this, but against my own judgment I complied. Magnus disapproved strongly, and Fritz disappeared entirely. When I returned to the tub I could hear Fritz huffing in the junipers but staying out of the way. Magnus raised holy hell from Gitmo for a few minutes but then went silent: I interpreted this (correctly) as meaning that he was concentrating on breaking out. He and Ghost showed up a little later but also stayed out of the way.

The problem was obvious: We could easily cut the flange with the Sawzall, but unfortunately we could also easily cut the puppy with it. We tried lubing him up with water (fail) and then with the last of my margarine (fail). We had to cut that flange away from him. By this time we were working by the light of three flashlights and getting nowhere. Finally we tried a low-tech approach: Just how stout was the metal of that flange? It was fifty years old and wasn't exactly made of unobtainium to begin with. So we clamped a big pair of pliers to it and pried - and to our delight the metal tore and bent out of the way easily. Okay! Just a matter of working carefully around Little Bear's throat.

Soon he was free and in my arms. Magnus had stayed out of the way while we were working, but now pushed humans away and insisted on his own inspection. Somehow Little Bear had escaped all injury, though he was exhausted and very quiet. Handshakes all around: D drove the Jeep back to his place while I sat in the shotgun seat and cradled Little Bear.

The lesson is obvious. Emergencies happen when they happen, and I had utterly failed to keep prepared for this one. It's all very well to wax poetic about "self-reliant" and "off-the-grid" living, and it does have its charms. But it also puts you in a position where you have none of the comfy cushion between life and death that it's so easy to grow used to, living in a city. Alone as I am and responsible for the boys, it was inexcusable of me to let that telephone go dead. If I hadn't had good relations with the neighbors, and if Little Bear hadn't stayed calm while I ran for help, he could have been killed. That would have been on my head. It won't happen again.