“Oh Archie, Bud has been bitten by a rattlesnake. Please look at the pic I just texted you and see if you can identify it, then phone the vet at home and find out if antivenin for people is safe to give to dogs, and if so, the dosage. Hurry baby… I’m on my way back with Bud. We’re ten minutes away…”
Archie felt his heart skip a beat; he didn’t realize how much he’d come to love this dog. The idea of losing Bud to a rattlesnake shook him to his core. He immediately called the local vet, forwarding the photo of the snake, and passing along Roxanne’s questions.
The vet recognized the snake instantly as a pygmy rattlesnake, smaller than typical rattlers but whose venom is still quite toxic. He explained to Archie that antivenin for people was indeed safe for Bud; Roxanne would have to reduce the dose to whatever she would give a child of the same weight. He was also amazed that the snake had been there. He’d never heard of another in the area in the twenty years he’d been a practicing veterinarian here in Hickoryvale.
Roxanne barely noticed Bud’s sixty-five pounds as she raced with him in her arms, back to her little clinic alongside their house. Bud continuously licked the bite which had swollen to the size of a plum. But it didn’t seem to be causing any breathing issues; the dog seemed alert and normal. Archie was waiting for her and took the dog as she entered the yard. She rushed ahead, unlocked the door, and dashed into her little drug dispensary — antivenin was a drug she kept on hand for snake-bite emergencies. Archie laid Bud on an examination table, where he seemed a bit puzzled with all the attention. A minute later, Roxanne was at Bud’s side and injected a small dose of antivenin into his haunch.
Bud’s lip had already stopped swelling; he drank some water and ate a few dog biscuits. He seemed bright and normal, with no sign of sickness or pain. Roxanne was convinced the amount of toxin injected by the snake had been minimal, or the entire side of Bud’s face would be swelling and he would seem a lot sicker.
Finally, when they were sure the worst was over, Roxanne collapsed on the couch in their living room, inviting Bud up to join her — normally he wasn’t allowed on the furniture. He curled up on her lap, allowing her to hold him in a full bear hug, and soaked up the love.
From that day forth, Bud was no longer simply the family mutt; he was now a revered, deeply respected, and loved, full-status member of the family.
This would not be the last time Bud saved a life.
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February 2021
Archie and Roxanne finally set a date. They would be married in their backyard in mid-May, with a small wedding and a dozen or so of their closest friends. Neither of them was particularly religious, so a local justice of the peace would perform the service. They would prepare their own vows and read them out loud. Even though vaccinations were now being administered across America, COVID still ruled out a large indoor wedding, so this would do. In fact, neither of them could think of a venue they would enjoy more than this.
Now that spring had arrived, they were back into their warm weather routines. It was easy to get caught up in work, so they had an unspoken rule to make time for each other, every single day. In the hour or so before dark, they would often walk to the rocky stream pool and swim, playing like kids, enjoying seeing and touching each others’ naked bodies, and making love on the grassy bank above the stream. It was a wonderful life.
Bud never learned to relax when Archie and Roxanne were in the pool, cavorting and playing, splashing each other and diving deep, only to come up somewhere else several feet away. Poor Bud sat and watched diligently, whining when one of them was submerged more than just a few seconds. Occasionally he entered the water and swam like a muskrat when he panicked and felt like one of them was in imminent danger of drowning. They always made a big fuss of him when he did. If a dog could grin, that’s what Bud did when they both teased and splashed him along the banks of the pool.
Roxanne had hidden a quart squeeze-bottle of doggie shampoo in the rocks and occasionally gave Bud a badly needed bath. Bud was not overly fond of baths or water, but he enjoyed the attention as Archie and Roxanne scrubbed him all over, working up a thick lather with their fingertips. He’d be nearly dry by the time they got back to the house.
On cooler evenings, they would soak in the hot tub. Late one evening in late January, to their delight, it started to snow while they sat up to their necks in the steaming water. Over the next half-hour, the garden was covered with an inch of wet clinging snow, transforming into a magical winter wonderland. They made love in the tub, as they sat and watched the storm all around them. The next morning, the snow had completely melted away and their yard was back to normal, the temperature in the low sixties.
As the days passed, they made more and more preparations for the wedding, which was going to be much like an informal garden party. Their guests would wear casual shorts and summer shirts, they would have a big barbeque, and would spend much time at the rocky stream pool, having a swimming party. The long-range weather report looked good — there should be a well-established high-pressure zone parked over the northern state, promising lots of sunny, dry weather.
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May 2021
As their big day drew nearer and their house and back decks were readied for all their friends to join them for their wedding, Archie began to worry a bit about the weather. It definitely was going to be sunny and warm; possibly too warm.
He’d gotten to know a few state wildland firefighters, who occasionally dropped off pieces of wood they’d found in their travels. Archie paid them with pens and other small items, made from southeastern exotic hardwoods. He’d learned quite a bit about wildfire management from these guys. One of them walked Archie’s property with him, pointing out some things Archie might want to address.
Since being abandoned as a hobby farm a decade ago, much of Archie’s forty acres had reverted back to wildland, essentially a jungle of thick brushy oak and pine, vines, and palmetto, a green but very flammable palm-like bush. The firefighter warned Archie this could all burn dangerously under the right conditions.
The US Forest Service has thousands of backcountry weather stations sending hourly data back to their headquarters. This data flows into a computer model that calculates the potential for wildfire by estimating how dry the forest fuels are. When conditions become dire, warnings are issued.
The model for north-central Georgia started issuing ‘Red Flag Warnings’ three days before their wedding date. For the past week, temperatures had been in the high nineties, and relative humidity values slipping below ten percent. Hot dry outflow winds had dried the fine fuels and forest litter to near zero percent water content. Local Fire Management Officers were calling around making sure their water tankers, helicopters, and ground crews, were ready to go at a moment’s notice. There was no question of ‘if’ there was going to be severe fire activity — it was ‘when’ and ‘where’.