The Southwest Voice

All > News
My dog was on fire
Topics:
Posted by Outlander Wed May 21, 2008 17:11:47 PDT
Viewed 638 times
0 responses 1 comment

We are a family of five, with two dogs and one cat.  Our “big dog,” Murphy, is part Chow and part Border Collie.  Ever since he was a puppy, I’ve been his playmate, his “other dog.”  He’d come to my arms and growl, playfully, waiting for me to do the same in reply.  We’d wrestle, I’d rough up his ears, and he’d put his front paws on my lap and smile as if he were in the best place in the world.  He’d lick my kids’ faces and frolic with them, always gentle.

On May 15, 2008, I was awakened by the barking of our smaller dog, Dude, about 3:00 AM.  I realized the dogs had gotten out the front gate.

I opened the front door and Dude came running in.  I went into the front yard and called for Murphy, but got no response.  I fixed the gate closed, then checked the entire house.  No Murphy.

I went out front one or two more times, walked a few paces up and down the street, snapping my fingers, whistling, calling for Murphy.  All remained quiet.

My wife soon joined the hunt, heading out the front door and toward the corner to my right.  I took the longer route to the other end of the street, calling out as I went.  No response on the quiet, street-lit road.

I headed back when I heard a horrible sound.

A dog, making that wailing-yiping sound, as if it were in pain.

It couldn’t be my dog.

I glanced across the street, where two of the houses had their porch lights brightly lit.  The light wasn’t right.  It was flickering.

My hands shake as I write this.  My heart pounds, and my world begins to spin.  Just like it did at that moment.

I ran toward the end of the street.  Rounding the corner into the yard across the street was a fireball—something in flames, and it was moving.

“What is that?”  I screamed as it came toward us from the yard across the street.  It moved on four legs, running for home.

It was my dog, and he was on fire!

I froze, my mind numbed, I could hear my wife screaming.  The voice of a neighbor said, calmly, but with authority, “You need to get some water ready.”

What is that, my mind screamed as I tried to focus on this image that could not be happening.  It was something out of someone’s worst nightmare, something out of a horror movie.  Something that could…not…be…

“Get some water ready,” the voice said again.  “Now!”

Suddenly set free into action, I turned on the hose valve.  As I ran for the nozzle, I realized my wife already had it and was spraying the dog, extinguishing quite a bit of the flame that engulfed him.  Still, he ran.  Murphy, part of his head still brightly ablaze, was running toward the house.

Toward the open door.

A live, moving flame was entering our house!!

I ran after Murphy, diving into the bedroom on top of him, trying to blow out the flame.  Denise was squirting water into the house, trying to reach the dog from the front door.  Meanwhile, Murphy shoved his own head into the bedspread, and my breath caught for a moment.

The head came up, minus the flame.  The fire was out.

As I touched Murphy’s body, I first noticed the intense heat still emanating from him.  And I smelled gasoline.

Someone had held our dog, doused him with gasoline, and set him on fire, then set him free!

My first thought was to get him into the backyard and drench him with water, cool him off.  We called 911 and within minutes, an officer arrived, and, after examining the dog for a moment, told us we should get him to the emergency vet.

There are a few images in life one should never have to see. Watching my dog running toward me, toward safety, wanting to get back home, engulfed in flames, is one of them.

But, I have been treated to that image, over and over again, endlessly.  Compliments of someone out there at three in the morning with a can of gas and a match.  Looking for entertainment?  Trying to get rid of interference for “bigger” plans?

We may never know.

Our house is dark now.  It’s a sort of gray-fog darkness, one that permeates almost everything we do, think, and say.  The images are getting duller, but not going away.

Everyone asks who would do this.  We can’t answer because that person doesn’t fit into our thinking.  They don’t fit.  And now, they’ve provided our family with images of something that won’t fit, can’t fit.  They’ll take people who would gladly offer respect and destroy things of importance to them.  They would take a friendly dog and use its friendliness against him.  And, when they get bored, they will make their own entertainment.

I’m only glad, that by the grace of God, I was awakened, and we were at least mostly prepared, to stop worse things, worse scenes, from playing out.

 

A postscript, written 2 days later:

Just after writing this article, we visited Murphy at the veterinary hospital for about 20 minutes.  Our whole family was encouraged to see Murphy’s eyes light up as he looked at each one of us.  That big dog smile was back, and his tail was wagging.  Things looked like they were going in the right direction.  The doctors told us it was still a “wait and see” situation, but even they seemed encouraged.

Two days later, I received news that tissue death, along with loss of protein levels, were becoming too great to counteract.  At 3:45 PM on Monday, May 19, 2008, we said goodbye to our dog Murphy.

This event is crushing.  It has, however, been made just a little more bearable through the compassion of so many people around us.  My students at McKee Middle School have given me cards and letters, carried out a donation drive, and have shown great concern.  The doctors at Bakersfield Veterinary Hospital have shown great care and support.  And our friends and family have prayed for us and checked on us almost daily.

We will miss our Murphy.  And we hope this never happens to anyone, ever again.

 

— If you have information about this crime, please contact the Bakersfield Police Department at 327-7111.

Send to a Friend

Report a Violation

Comment From: swsamurai

I am so sorry for your loss. This is just another sign that there are sick, sad people out there. I try, really try not to be a hateful person, but people like this make it hard for me to to so. The people that killed your dog should be treated in the same way they treated your dog. My wife and I have three mutts, all rescues and all just as important as children to us, since we do not have children. I feel for you, friend... I really do. I wish there was something that I could do or say, but there just isn't. If I could make one suggestion, though... Adopt a new dog... a mutt... if possible, from a rescue shelter. It will not replace Murphy, but I think it will help the healing process.