Cash and the unthinkable, unimaginable, and terrible chainsaw incident

I’m not a lumber jack, but for a few days back in 2019, I was. To be exact it was late August of 2019, the time of year when summer makes its final stand in the Pennsylvania sky before winter sets in. The temperatures that year were still in the high eighties. Good weather to get out and saw wood, I thought. Wanting to be safe on my first day of cutting and maiden voyage as a brethren of Paul Bunyan I wore long sleeves, boots, and long pants which led to a lot of sweating later on. I started out early, well early for me about ten or so in the morning which means I got up around eight and before you chastise me too much and say that’s not early, I should tell you that I work at night and get off at two or three in the morning most days. Okay, that explained back to the story. I had been outside in almost ninety-degree heat wearing long sleeves, jeans, and work boots with sweat dripping from the sides of my face, as if rain clouds had nested in my hair. My hands were numb from hours of constant vibrations coming from the new Craftsmen chainsaw I bought the week prior. The safety precautions I had practiced at every point most of which concerned my dog, a black German Shepherd, named Cash had started to lax and at this moment several hours in, I had almost completely forgotten them.

Having sawed halfway through a four-inch round off shoot of the larger thirty-foot branch that fell in a storm two weeks prior, instead of looking for Cash I was watching my sweat land in drops on the sawdust covering the ground below me. In hindsight I wish I had been looking for him because after ignoring me for the entire morning and well into the afternoon Cash had finally decided to make his move.

All I saw was a flicker of motion flashing in the corner of my left eye. An alarm bell went off instantly in my subconscious. I knew what was happening before I could even formulate the thought before my eyes could look all the way up. On instinct my fingers uncurled from the chainsaws trigger. My hands pulled the saw back as fast as I could. Fear shot through my body as I saw, what I already knew was happening. There was Cash, his long black snout pointed right toward me. I had no time; it was too late. In a blur he came in his soft black nose pushing against the still spinning chain. In a cry of pain, he jumped back spinning all the way around in the air to face the other direction. I stood in shock, still not believing what’d just happened. I watched in horror as Cash ran in the other direction splatters of blood trailing after him in wide arch’s shooting out perpendicular from his retreating body. The first thought that registered in my mind was, this is bad.

Okay, let me back up for a minute. I should give you some background. This wasn’t Cash’s first brush with death. His first brush with death happened in his first days and minutes, actually seconds of life. Cash is from a champion breeder in Ohio. His grandfather is arguably the most famous black German Shepherd in history, V Paska Vom Salztalblick. His father, V Satan Vom Haus Salztalblick was also a very well renowned black shepherd. Jessica was only able to afford him because of what happened early on in his life. Which to be honest I don't understand because to me Cash is the most perfect Shepherd in every way. He is an amazing, beautiful, loyal, and protective animal. He is gentle with all the kids, good with our cats, and save's our lives from postal workers every day.

Cash’s life did have a very inauspicious start. He was the only surviving puppy in of a litter of eleven. All of his brothers and sisters were stillborn. His mother tried to end his life in the first moments he spent outside her womb. The breeder who now resides in Florida hand raised Cash for three weeks before giving him to his aunt, a shepherd named Morticia. Morticia raised Cash as her own until he was six months old. My wife Jessica brought Cash home from the breeder about three and half years before Jessica and I became friends, started dating, and eventually married. His brushes with death didn’t stop there. When he was nine months old two unleashed dogs attacked him. They came without warning when Jessica was walking him alone. She was barely able to get him away, and not before he was bloodied with a few nasty bites. To this day we have to walk Cash with a choker because he has never regained his trust of strange dogs and will immediately go for any dog we come across. We’ve tried hard to break him of this to no avail. Luckily since we’ve moved to a new property with more land, we no longer have to use the choker and Cash is able to roam free when he is outside.

I met Cash the first time on a cold Pennsylvania night in 2017. Let’s just say Cash and I had a pretty inauspicious start too. For a good five minutes after I took a step, just a step inside Jessica’s door Cash barked bloody murder at me. I stood hiding my nerves, standing my ground, holding my hand out, and down for him to smell hoping I could get him to stop baring his teeth. To be honest I wasn’t sure how it was going to go. Was I going to have a nice scar from a dog bite to talk about or was he going to calm down? In the end he stopped barking and sat down beside Jessica resigning himself to giving me the stink eye. Not sure if I was making a smart choice, I moved a hand to pet him. And to be honest until I touched fur, I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t be pulling back a bloody stump.

After those first awkward moments of introduction Cash warmed up to me pretty quick. By the end of dinner and a couple drinks in front of the gas fireplace in the living room we were fast friends. Jessica told me the real test would be if he stayed upstairs in the morning when she went down to make coffee or if he stayed with me. Well suffice it to say Cash stayed with me and ever since I’ve been well, as Jessica likes to put it, I’m his human.

In June of that same year Jessica moved in with me and my son Alex along with her two daughters who are now my wonderful stepdaughters Reagan and Samantha. Those first couple months there was a lot of give and take. We had some tough times it’s not easy blending two family’s fresh off divorces and no before you ask our relationship was not what ended our marriages. They both fell apart on their own long before. We didn’t start dating until after any hope of reconciliation in our marriages was gone, and divorce papers had already been filed. But not the point of this story which I promise I will get back too.

Time is a helpful thing especially when it comes to dealing with difficult situations. And time was exactly what we needed to find our rhythm and eventually we did. Taking Cash and my monster of a menace, a Beagle named Roscoe who never met any annoying habit he didn’t like for walks, playing soccer in the front yard with the girls, or just roasting Marshmallows over a fire we bonded. What brought us together more than anything else, what really melded us as a family was the birth of our youngest daughter Addilynn. She was a blessing, a common thread, a bind that melded all of us.

One of my biggest efforts to create a Brady bunch atmosphere in our small house on club drive, where we lived at the time was to hang a tree swing in the large oak just off our back deck. I spent hours online searching for just the right one and in the end, I chose a forty-inch saucer tree swing. And brother let me tell you it was a hit. An out of the ballpark, grand slam, clear the bases hit. The kids, all the kids, loved it, which I can tell you, it is hard to find anything all the kids love especially with a twelve-year-old, a ten-year-old, a sixteen-year-old, and a two-year-old. But they did. Reagan loved to read laying in it, Samantha loved to swing as high as she possibly could, Alex loved to take naps in it, and Addi loved being in it with Samantha. And in case you’re wandering I listed the kids ages in the same order I listed their names.

I will always remember that summer fondly because that was the summer that shaped us, helped us grow, helped us become a family. And, in late August of that year summer was coming to a close. We were busy making Christmas plans and getting ready for a new school year. Summer that year had also been marked by quite a few thunderstorms. Some of our neighbors had had to pump water out of their basements more than once. So, when a storm hit the first week of August, I didn’t think much of it. I actually told Google to play the sound of rain on a tin roof during it when I got home from work because I needed some ambient noise to sleep, and I had to go back to work the next day.

When the next day came, and I went downstairs to drink my morning coffee I had already forgotten about the storm. Jessica had the news on, and we had our usual what’s happening in the world conversation. It wasn’t until I took my traditional walk over to the sliding glass door to look out over my fiefdom of a fenced in backyard, did I realize the storm had left its mark on our humble abode.

There under thirty feet of perfect tree swing hanging tree branch was our tree swing laying on the ground. It took several moments for it to register that the swing was gone. I kept looking at the scar on the tree where the branch had been and to where it was now on the ground. Up in the air jutting out horizontally from the trunk of the large Oak the branch hadn’t looked so big but, on the ground, it went nearly all the way to the end of the yard, and we didn’t have a small yard. My only thought was, how am I gonna take care of that. The answer that came back in one word was chainsaw. No way was I paying a tree service to come in here and cut up a tree limb that was already on the ground, I was way too cheap for that, still am.

And that was how I ended up at Lowes buying my first ever chainsaw. After a long internal in store debate, I settled on a Craftsman chainsaw with an 18inch bar and by the next Saturday I was ready to go. I had my morning coffee, my air pods were charged, my favorite Pandora station was queued up, and the first beer of the day was already halfway to being empty. I started out by doing some preliminary work to get ready for when I would actually start cutting. I ran out the electric cords, cleared away loose brush, gathered up smaller sticks, and broke them into manageable pieces before throwing them into the landscape brick firepit, I built in July. My plan for the main branch which at its thickest point was over ten inches in diameter was to cut the smaller portions at the end of the branch into firewood for the firepit and cut the larger portions into two log benches that I would place on either side of the firepit.

After an hour or so I was ready to fire up the chainsaw. My first concern was Addi. When you have a two-year-old you always have to be conscious of where they are and what they’re doing, but Samantha didn’t go to her dads that weekend and she was the best babysitter a little sister could ask for, so I had that covered. My second concern was Cash. Cash was four years old when I met him the first time in the winter of 2017. Somewhere in those first four years before I came along Cash developed a healthy dislike for power tools. Whether it’s a leaf blower or a lawn mower, he will attack. My lawn mower has pit marks all over the tire from his teeth, my leaf blower, drill, and weed eater have also had visits from Cash’s teeth. So, my second concern was definitely Cash. I needed to keep eyes on him at all times. And I did really good at the beginning I was like radar picking up any movement from anywhere. Cash surprisingly, especially with the level of noise the chainsaw was making seemed completely disinterested. He was enthralled in his usually routines of playing with his current chew toy, running up and down the fence, and trying to goad the neighbor’s dog into a barking match.

The day was going pretty well, I was making good progress. Based on the amount of sawdust that was now covering the back yard I had done a lot. I started with the chainsaw by cutting off the smaller branches from the main branch and then moved on to cutting the four-foot section I would use for the bench tops. I had discovered in my work that the corded Chainsaw I purchased made the work more laborious and time consuming than the more powerful gas-powered saws like the ones Jessica’s Dad, who actually owns and operates a lumber mill, has. After finishing the cut on the four-foot section I decided to take a break from the larger cuts and go back to some of the smaller branches and that’s when the unthinkable happened. Cash finally got up to his old tricks.

I will never forget the image of Cash running away from me with his blood shooting away from him, it’s permanently burned clearly and vividly into my memory. I’d heard about arterial injuries, but I had never seen one in person before. The first thought in my mind after thinking this is bad was OMG what do I do? In answer to myself I took off after Cash. I caught him on our deck. He was frantic, blood was going everywhere. I knew I had to get pressure on the wound. If I didn’t, I was sure he was going to bleed out. Grabbing a rag, I’d used earlier to wipe drops of chain oil off the deck I cornered him by the sliding glass door. It became apparent pretty quick that Cash was not going to cooperate. In fact, it was more than apparent that he didn’t plan on doing anything besides moving in every direction at once. It took a minute of wrestling before I managed to get him in a position where, I could apply pressure to the wound.

I can tell you now from experience animals especially dogs do not like having pressure applied to the ends of their nose. As much as Cash fought me, I think he understood that I was helping too because as much as he moved around, he also stayed still. I think he was going through his own internal balance of putting up with discomfort and his natural instinct to pull away. We struggled that way for what seemed like an eternity and Hulk Hogan would have been proud of the headlock I kept Cash in. I hated doing it I could see how uncomfortable it was for him. I also knew I couldn’t stop. I just kept repeating.

“I’m helping you buddy.”

I had one problem that was becoming very apparent. The blood wasn’t stopping. I called out-

“Samantha, Samantha!” I had remembered from somewhere, back in my Army days that sugar clotted blood. I called again for Samantha to come outside, and she finally appeared in the kitchen and opened the sliding glass door.

“Get the sugar from the cabinet.”

“The sugar?”

“Yes, Samantha hurry.” She brought back the sugar and I immediately began pouring and pressing it into the wound. I could tell Samantha was scared when I looked at her. I reassured her Cash was going to be okay, but I could see it wasn’t helping I know her worried face and she was wearing every bit of it. The only good thing is Samantha’s quite when she’s scared which probably helped my stress level. I just kept trying to assure her Cash would be fine and kept pressing his nose. At intervals I would pull the towel from his nose to check it. The blood was slowing but after a second of the rag not being there it would reappear again. I was happy to see it was slowing but I still couldn’t let Cash, who was still struggling, go. Looking up, I saw Addi standing at the window. She was only two and I knew she couldn’t understand fully what was happening but by the way her hands were up by her mouth I could tell she at least understood the emotion of what was happening. I told Samantha to grab Addi and take her inside. I assured Samantha again I would take care of Cash. She looked at me and I reiterated that it was okay that I’d come inside and get her when I was done. I’m not sure if Samantha believed me but she went back inside the sliding glass door, closed it behind her, picked up Addi, and disappeared inside the house.

It was about that time the phone rang. I knew who it was, it was Jessica, and I knew I should answer. She would have just gotten off work and would now be on her way home. The phone rang again. If I didn’t answer she would get worried, get worried and call back. Leaning over stretching my arm as far as I could I was just able to reach my phone from where I was sitting on one side of our outdoor sectional. Pressing the talk button with a finger stained red with blood I put the phone up to my ear.

“Hello” Her voice came across the line warm and familiar.

“I can’t really talk.”

“You can’t talk?”

“No, Cash got hurt and I need to take care of him.”

“Cash got hurt? How did he get hurt?”

“He got cut with the chainsaw, he’ll be alright, but I can’t talk I have to go. I'll call you back as soon as I can.” I hung up the phone. I knew I shouldn’t have but it was getting impossible to hold Cash and the phone. Having both hands back on him I went back to reassuring him. “It’s going to be okay. You have to let me do this, buddy. I’m trying to help you.” My voice seemed to help calm him and keep him just below the edge of frantic. So, I continued to talk to him and try to calm him as much as I could while I kept pressure on his nose. I was also heartened to notice that when I took the kitchen towel, I'd swapped the rag for when Samantha brought me the sugar, away it was taking the blood longer and longer to reappear. The sugar seemed to help keep the two sides of the flap that had been cut into his nose closed. I think his nose must have started hurting less because he had stopped trying to get away as much. Taking advantage of the break with the struggle with Cash, I called Jessica back.

When she answered I immediately felt worse than I already did because I could tell she had been crying. Instead of the usual hello, I got a question with a slight break in her voice. “Is he going to be alright?” I promised her he was and went on to explain what had happened and the ordeal that’d ensued. After I finished telling her what'd happened with me and Cash, I found out she had already been on the phone with our vet and an emergency veterinary hospital in Somerset. Our vet couldn’t see him till Monday and the emergency veterinary hospital was going to be six hundred dollars just to get him seen and she wanted to know if she should tell them we were coming. I told her no, that I didn’t think he was going to have to go to the vet at all. His nose seemed to be closing up and we would just have to watch after him for a while. Jessica said Ok, but I could tell she was hesitant so I added that we could take him if she wanted after she got home and got a look at him.

Jessica told me she was okay as long as I thought he didn’t need it. She also wanted to know if there was anything she could stop and get for him. I told her to go to CVS and get a thing of bleed stop so I could get his nose to finally finish clotting the wound. After that we said our goodbyes and I love you’s and I hung up the phone again. I wasn’t keeping constant pressure on Cash’s nose anymore the blood was taking about thirty seconds to reappear. Looking around I started to assess the extent of things. Blood was everywhere on the cushions of the outdoor furniture, on the outdoor carpet, and the wood of the deck. The whole placed looked like a murder scene. It took a couple hours with the pressure washer the next day and a good amount of soap to get the blood off everything.

When Jessica got home, we hugged and then she went right to holding Cash. Samantha and Addi came back outside and were already asking "is Cash was okay now?", which we were both glad to say yes. Reagan was home now too but she had gone straight to her bedroom after her dad dropped her off and wouldn’t know anything had happened until she came in the kitchen later that night when we were making dinner. Alex was at his mom’s house and wouldn’t find out until the next afternoon.

The bleed stop worked like a charm when I put it on Cash. There was no more blood immediately. I thought for sure he would bump his nose against something, and the wound would open up again but to my surprise it never happened. He spent the rest of the night before we brought him inside on his dog bed looking across the deck like someone had taken his favorite chew toy from him and wouldn’t give it back. I could almost hear him thinking what did you do to me, daddy?

It’s been almost three years since the terrible chainsaw incident and if you look at Cash now unless you know what you’re looking for you’ll never find his chainsaw scar. For a long time, his nose had a pink streak all the way down it, but eventually it turned back to black. To this day I credit the sugar and the pressure I applied for holding and keeping that flap closed so it could heal so perfectly. When I tell people I cut my dog once with a chainsaw they without fail look at Cash like they are looking at a ghost. I’m never really sure if it’s because they think he should be dead, or they just don’t believe me. I usually have to reassure them that it actually happened. It almost doesn’t seem real to me sometimes. The way he’s healed it truly is like it never happened at all.

In full disclosure I must end this by telling you Cash has not learned his lesson, but I have. Cash still attacks power tools any chance he gets, but I keep him in the house now when I pull out things like the chainsaw or the snow blower. I let him eat the weed eater, the tires of the lawn mower, and the end of the leaf blower as much as he wants though. And the tree swing made it back up on a branch on the other side of the Oak tree and is presently hanging from a branch at the house we live in now and it's still a hit.