Me and Otto continue our maneuvers every night without a hitch until dropping off the last batch of weed killer in the daylight mist after completing the entirety of our mission. We’re a few feet away from the Toxic Disposal Site when a jogger runs by and stops to grab his chest. He’s bent over moaning and then seconds later, he falls to the pavement and lies there near dead.
A few weeks back, me and Kahu watched a CPR video on the YouTube. He let me practice on him until I learned to press on his chest with enough force to give a good pump to his heart without breaking a few ribs in the process. Kahu being a patient Dog Dad also let me press my muzzle against his mouth and blow air into his lungs. The doctor on the video instructed us when to use force and when to be gentle. He also told us how to check for signs of life. This jogger was probably somewhere on the higher planes enjoying a road trip to heaven. He was that far gone.
I get to work pressing on the lifeless man’s chest and breathing into his mouth, while hollering at Otto, “Howl like a bloodhound. We need human help.” Everybody living nearby comes running out their front doors to check on the commotion. When seeing the lifeless man, they get on their phones and call an ambulance. They come over to watch this big boy reviving one of their own without interfering with my efforts. Once in a while, I check to see if he is breathing and then go back to work pressing my paws against his chest.
Bound to happen, but one of them connects the wagon and the fliers to their missing weed killer. The man is forgotten during the hubbub of complaints, but I keep on reviving my patient even with Otto sniveling in my ear about being caught. Bloodhounds suffer from a bout of pessimism on occasion but not this Mastiff boy. I am determined to blow life back into my patient and seconds after an ambulance pulls up and the paramedics jump out with their equipment, the man opens his eyes and then faints when seeing this big boy’s face staring down at him.
“Good dog, Bernard.” I recognize the police officer walking toward us. “What we got here?”
“Never seen nothing like it. How long has he been giving him mouth to mouth?” A paramedic asks the disheveled onlookers still dressed in their pajamas and whatnot, looking like they belong in a hospital ward.
“Me and Connie been standing here at least five minutes. We heard the hound howling for help and ran to see what we could do, but the big dog had the situation under control. Neither one of us knows CPR so thought it best we call for an ambulance.”
“You did the right thing.” The paramedic says. “He would have died without help.” He gives me an appreciative glance. I’m busy positioning myself in front of the wagon in hopes our stolen goods are forgotten, but a busybody just can’t let it drop.
“Officer, you need to arrest these two mutts for stealing our weed killer. The Neighborhood Watch has been staring out their windows for four nights trying to figure out who’s been breaking into our sheds.”
“The situation is under control. The rest of you go back to your houses.” The officer shoos them away and then turns to me.
“What you up to now, Bernard?” He looks over our goods and, being smart, figures we’ve been educating the neighbors on the dangers of weed killer. “You taking this to the Toxic Disposal Site? Let me help you with what’s got to be your last load. Been fielding complaints all week. You and Otto here are something to be proud of.” Just then Sheriff Clive pulls up with Kahu and Lola in the backseat looking confused but the whole lot of them get out and help us finish our mission.
Later I overhear Kahu talking to Sheriff Clive on his phone. Sounds like he is being told the jogger survived and asked to visit the dog who saved him. I mutter something about sending me a thank you card being enough. This boy’s tired and in need of a rest.