My name is Bailey and, as you can see from my picture, I am a gorgeous, solid black, purebred German Shepherd. I was 18 months old (born 2002) when I arrived at the shelter and adoption facility where I live.
Early this year, I was lying on my side in my quarters with my left front paw extended under the fence separating me from the adjacent run. Shockingly, my paw was suddenly grabbed by a dog in the next enclosure. He and his kennel mate pulled my entire leg through this narrow space and, over the next several minutes, tore it off.
My caretaker came running across the shelter grounds at the sounds of my extreme fear, suffering and agony. She managed to restrain the other two dogs and then applied a tourniquet and compresses to my jagged wound in an effort to stop the hemorrhaging. I was driven at high speed across Dallas to a veterinarian hospital, barely clinging to life. The vet, her husband, an orthopedic veterinarian, and other wonderful and caring hospital staff members immediately initiated emergency procedures to stop my bleeding and prepare me for my first surgery. A week later, I underwent a second surgical procedure to combat infection and to use skin grafts from other parts of my body to cover my extensive wounds. I spent more than a month at their hospital where I was constantly told what a wonderful dog I am and how important it was for me to survive.