Sherman, a cocker spaniel

Sherman Runs Away

By Lila Freilicher

Dec 14, 2009

The weather was pleasantly warm that summer day in Connecticut, just right for rolling down the windows in my brother in law’s car. I sat in the back with my boyfriend, Boz, and my sweet cocker spaniel, Sherman, between us. We were crammed in very tight and my knees were pressed up against the back of the driver’s seat. It was not comfortable, but the distance was short, the company delightful, and Sherman was meeting my family for the first time.

With Sherman I had discovered a new kind of love. I was pushing 65, but he was my first dog, having always thought of myself as a “cat person.” I was madly in love with him—with his irresistibly soft fur, big brown eyes, and endearing way of pressing his chubby body close to mine when I was sad, hurting, or scared.

In the sliver of a second a pleasant day turned horrific. I felt the crushing impact against my chest as the car rammed into a vehicle at the intersection. My left knee hit hard against the seat in front of me. I heard myself screaming in fear and pain. The air felt cold as ice (they tell me that is from shock), but I never lost consciousness. I called out to make sure everyone was okay. They were. There were air bags in the front seat and, next to me, Boz had seen it coming, and had braced himself and Sherman for the impact.

I was alone inside the car waiting for EMS to get me out of the wreck. I could see the others just outside and Boz holding Sherman on his leash. I’m told that I let out a blood-curdling scream when I realized something terrible had happened to my leg. I saw my thighbone popping outward and pressing against the skin! My scream frightened Sherman so much that he slipped right out of his collar and launched like a rocket, racing down the road.

I saw Boz take off after him, running and running and running, and then they were both out of sight. I was still waiting for EMS when Boz returned without Sherman. Despite my pain nothing seemed more frightening than losing Sherman. I kept calling his name, tearfully; not wanting to leave while Sherman was missing and possibly lost forever.

At the hospital I lay flat on my back waiting for tests and painkillers, but the only pain I remember was feeling the loss of my Sherman. It seemed to me that nothing could be worse than losing him. I was diagnosed with a broken femur. It was fractured right through above a knee prosthesis, which had been put in only six months before. I had severe burns and bruises from the seat belt, but it may have saved my life.

Several hours later I heard that Sherman was saved too—thanks to the kindness of strangers. When he ran down the road, he veered off into the backyard (and from there into the woods) of a wonderful family who themselves had a much loved pet. They told Boz not to worry, that they would find him. True to their word they organized their neighbors into a posse, and set off to scour the woods. They didn’t give up, even after dark. They searched on, long into the night, and finally did find him. He was not injured. They brought him home, and Boz picked him up the next day.

Knowing Sherman was safe allowed me to face the pain and challenge that lay ahead. Even now, six months later and still healing, Sherman’s love and devotion helps me to keep going.

Terrible things happen to good people every day—far worse than what happened to me. Nevertheless, in my life, that accident was a tragedy. For many years I suffered debilitating pain due to severe osteoarthritis in both knees. In March 2008, I finally garnered the courage to have my right knee replaced. In a few short months I felt better than I had in many years. I expressed my joy by rather spontaneously getting my beautiful cocker puppy. Five months later, in January 2009, I underwent replacement surgery on my other knee, looking forward to a second excellent recovery.

Indeed, in a few short months I was walking without a cane and without pain for the first time in so many years! I was finally able to enjoy the outdoors with Sherman, walking a mile to the dog run, and happily taking him on my city errands: a girl and her dog. I envisioned traveling for the first time in years and experiencing life fully once again.

Then, only 3 months later the car wreck cut short my newfound freedom. In just one and a half years I had had to endure three major orthopedic surgeries, and once again, the frustration of not being able to walk.

Broken femurs take a long time to heal, and often they don’t heal properly. It is now 6 months since the accident. It looks promising that I will walk again thanks to a famous surgeon and to Boz, who has been there for me every day of my recovery.

For several months Sherman jumped at the slightest sound—even pots and pans clattering in the kitchen. He imagined enemies hiding behind doors and waiting to pounce from above the kitchen cabinets. Slowly he regained his confidence, and is now back to his sweet, well adjusted self.

Whatever the future brings, I know that my Sherman will help brighten every day with his love and devotion. And when I need strength and hope I will get it from the gratitude I feel to Boz and to the kind strangers who rescued my beloved pup.