Chicago the dogs's amazing leap

Our “dog thing” all started with a free farm dog we named “Chicago”. He was the first dog either of us had ever had. This is the story of his amazing leap.


It was a wonderful summer day…. You know the type. Driving down the highway, windows down, radio on, life is good. I had my new puppy in the seat next to me. He had not figured out how to hang his head out the window yet, and I had not figured out to leave just enough room for his head to fit. I was about to!

I noticed some cows grazing in the field as I sped down the highway at 70 miles an hour. Chicago must have noticed he cows at the same time and decided they must be dogs with whom would love to play wit him, for before I could blink, Chicago had all four paws on the door frame and launched himself out of the car, presumable to go play with the “dogs”.

In my rear view mirror I saw a sight I will never forget. My dog, legs outstretched, trying to fly like Superman. He hit the beam of the highway and bounced 8-10 feet into the air. As he was air-born after the bounce, it was as if he had no bones whatsoever and was made of rubber, a complete rag doll appearance violently tossed into the air.

I pulled to the side, shaking, fearful, and in tears. I certainly could not afford the vet bill to fix him up if by the slightest chance, he had survived. Frankly, I didn’t want to have to see the mess that used to be my dog, and so I literally began to drive away, realizing all was lost. Yet something made me stop before pulling into traffic, and I realized I had to go see if their was anything I could do, you know, put a doggy band-aid on it or something.

So I backed carefully down the shoulder to where I thought Chicago had hit. No sign of him. So I opened the door and gave a whistle. Nothing. I tried again, and this time the bushes about 20 yards down the hill began to rustle. Out came Chicago, wobbling up the hill towards my car, as if he had just had one to many whiskeys. He hopped into the car, and looked at me as if to say “what the heck just happened!”

I never did take him to the vet. He slept soundly for the rest of the day, and after picking literally hundreds of burs out of his fur, he seemed no worse for the wear. He lived to be 12 years old, and had at least one other adventure that would have killed a normal dog. Chicago, was not your average pup!