If you've ever owned a labrador retriever, you know that they're the ADHD breed of the canine world - distracted by everything; never a care for consequences; run first and ask questions later.
Today my husband took our children and the lab over to a neighbor's house to cut some firewood. (Well, the dog wasn't going to cut firewood. She just helps out by chasing potential attacking squirrels away from the woodcutting site.) En route, while no one was looking, the dog's 2-celled brain led her to believe that she was Wonder Dog minus the cape. She took a flying leap out of the bed of the truck. I guess her brain wasn't able to convince her body of her supercanine status, and she lay on the road in obvious pain until my husband picked her up and brought her home.
Husband's solution was to give her two Advil. My motherly instinct (which apparently kicks in with pets, too) was to insist that she be taken to the vet. Two x-rays, one surgery, one metal rod in her leg, and four hundred dollars later, her broken thigh bone has been repaired.
Vet says she has to be confined and kept from running for the next six weeks. In my opinion, this medical advice is along the same lines of telling a pregnant mother of toddlers to stay in bed and rest.
Have to run. I have to put shades over all the windows to keep her from launching herself through them to get at the next Big Mac wrapper that blows across the yard.