Faithful Friend

Jim Tarpley speaks with a slight drawl, his gravelly voice lingering between words as if he’s giving them special consideration.  It’s just what you’d expect from a rugged 6 foot tall

cattle rancher who’s weathered a lot of storms over the years.  But when Jim speaks of Leroy, his voice mellows and there’s a hint of emotion in it.  Leroy is the reason that Jim is alive today.

Back in 1988, Leroy was Jim’s dog.  The four year old Aerdale was, in Jim’s words, “a sorry looking animal”.  With long, delicate legs that seemed to lose themselves in a heavy black and brown fur, the gangly animal looked out of place on the ranch.  But what Leroy lacked in looks, he made up for in spirit.  The dog loved life, and he loved Jim most of all.  The two had a special bond, a friendship that words cannot describe.

Wherever Jim travelled, Leroy was never far behind.  The dog shadowed his master, keeping Jim company as he did his chores on the 600 hectare ranch in eastern Idaho.  But life for the pair was more than just work.  There was time for games and relaxation, too, and of all  the games the two played “Let’s go irrigate” was a favourite.  Whenever Jim checked the ranch’s irrigation system, Leroy follow closely knowing that at any moment Jim might stop, turn and mutter “Alright, Leroy, let’s go irrigate.” Those words sent shivers of excitement through Leroy’s shaggy body.  Like an arrow unfurled,  Leroy would race to the ditch, and plunge into the water for a refreshing dip.

At sunrise on the morning of July 16, Jim and Leroy set out in the truck to make their rounds of the ranch.  The sky was a brilliant blue, and the day promised to be a scorcher.  They bounced for several kilometres down a dirt road before stopping in a meadow to load bales of hay.  Jim fired up a big diesel tractor, scooped up the bales, and piled them on a bale wagon.  When he had a full load, he carted the wagon across the field and stacked the bales into neat rows. 

Around 8:30 a.m., a gear on the bale wagon jammed.  When Jim started to climb down from the tractor to free it, he slipped on a blob of grease.  Jim wavered, then grabbed a control bar on the tractor to steady himself.  That set a chain of events in motion.  The tractor swung into gear and lurched ahead, throwing Jim to the ground.  On his way down, Jim hit the throttle.  The tractor roared to life.  Its giant wheels rolled forward, crushing Jim.  Jim felt his leg shatter, then as the tractor rumbled over his chest he felt his ribs crack and splinter.  The wheels narrowly missed his head before the tractor chugged past and headed across the field.

Jim lay on his back, a crumpled fold in the dirt.  Every bone felt crushed, each organ mashed.  Any movement, no matter how slight, sent shock waves of pain through his body. Jim knew he was critically injured.  But at least you’re alive, he told himself.  For now.

Jim heard the cough of an engine and felt the rumble of wheels on the ground.  The tractor sounded strangely close.  Unable to raise his head because of his injuries, Jim grabbed his hair with his hand and lifted it up to take a look.  Somehow the tractor had bounced off some bales, turned around in a tight circle, and was grinding its way back.  Jim was right in its path.

 With astonishing strength, Jim twisted his mangled body and rolled over three times.  The tractor roared past, just missing him.  Then, the incredible happened.  One of the wheels hit an oil can.  The tractor twisted, turned and circled again.  This time there was no escape.  The wheels bounced over Jim’s legs, crushing them once more. 

Jim knew that he was doomed.  The tractor’s steering was locked, and the tractor was moving in an endless circle.  In a few seconds, it would swing back and run over him again. This is it...the end, Jim told himself.  He prepared for the final crunch and prayed that it would be mercifully quick.

Then, the incredible happened again.  As the tractor chugged by the truck, the bale wagon snagged it.  The tractor shifted directions, rumbled past Jim, climbed a small hill and stalled near a barbed-wire fence.

With the tractor dead, an eerie stillness filled the air.  Jim dared not move, could not move.  He lay face down in the dirt, his body shattered, his insides pulverized.  Leroy wandered over and licked Jim’s face.  “I’m still alive,” Jim whispered hardly believing it himself.

The morning wore on.  The sun rose higher in the sky, leaving no escape from the blazing heat.  Jim drifted in and out of consciousness.  Sometimes, when he awoke, Leroy was there lying beside him.  Other times the dog was gone, off on adventures of his own. 

By one o’clock, Jim’s mouth was papery dry and his tongue was swollen and thick.  He tried to whistle for Leroy, but no sound came from his lips.  Blowflies circled around him and crawled into his nose, ears and eyes, but Jim was too weak to shoo them away.  He had stopped sweating, a sure sign that he was becoming dehydrated.

Leroy wandered over.  He had been swimming in the ditch, and water dripped from his thick coat.  He plopped down in the dirt next to Jim and licked him, working his tongue over Jim’s wounds, and chasing away the blowflies that peppered his face. The coolness of Leroy’s wet fur revived Jim, and he began sucking on Leroy’s coat, drawing as much moisture as he could.  The water trickled down his throat and soaked into its parched lining.  It felt good, so good.  But Jim knew he needed more if he was to survive. 

“Leroy, “ he whispered.  “Let’s go irrigate.” 

Leroy bounded to the nearby creek.  He returned, dripping wet.  Jim sucked as much water as he could, then sent Leroy to “go irrigate” again and again.

The afternoon dragged on unmercifully.  Jim knew he was a mangled mess, and that if he didn’t receive help before nightfall he wouldn’t live to see the next day.  Thoughts of his family crossed his mind.  He saw the faces of his wife and their four grown children.  It’s not fair, he thought.  There are so many things I want to tell them.... He stretched out his unbroken arm and scratched I love....in the dirt.  But he couldn’t finish.  He didn’t have the strength.

Around 4 p.m. Jim heard the sound of a car tearing down the dirt road.  He grabbed his straw hat, raised his arm and waved..  Please see me, he begged.  The car screeched to a stop, and two of Jim’s neighbours tumbled out. 

Jim’s memories of the next few hours are hazy and broken by long stretches of unconsciousness.  He remembers a medivac helicopter arriving.  He recalls the choppy ride to the hospital, the shots and intravenous drips along the way.  He remembers snippets of conversations. ....The whispered gasp of a nurse saying “I can’t find a pulse.”  The doctor telling the pilot, “We’re going to lose him if you don’t get there faster.”...

It took 26 minutes to reach the hospital.  In that time, Jim hovered between life and death.  Doctors said his chances were slim, that he’d likely not survive the night.  They ushered in his wife and children to say their goodbyes.

Jim surprised them all.  He pulled through despite his punctured bladder, shattered pelvis, crushed ribs, and fractured leg, arm, hand and shoulder.  After 13 days in the hospital, Jim was sent home encased in casts and bandages to face months of painful therapy.

Jim credits Leroy with saving his life.  “That dog,” he says, “was special.  He would do anything for me.”  So special was Leroy that when he died in 1992, it just seemed natural for Jim to bury him nearby on the ranch.  So special that when Jim finally sold the ranch, he dug up Leroy’s  remains and reburied him near his new home in the mountains of Idaho.  Leroy would like the new place, Jim figured.  It seemed to be the least that Jim could do for his friend.