Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 550.

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Wuthering Dormice
(aka Bike)
Part 550
by Angharad
                     
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The poor woman just overbalanced into the brown fast-flowing water. What could I do to help? I glanced around anxiously, but there was absolutely nothing I could throw her as a buoyancy aid. She was splashing around frantically as she tried to grasp vegetation on the bank; the girls were getting upset. Oh shit.

What could I do? I certainly couldn’t jump in to save her–I wasn’t a strong enough swimmer, and that would mean two of us getting drowned or smashed against the stone piers of the bridge on which we were standing.

I dialed 999 and called for emergency services, told them who I was, where we were, and finally what had happened. She was being washed into the midstream. I couldn’t watch. I switched off the phone, and wished there was something I could do. If only she’d come near to the bank, I might have been able to grab her.

I saw a dog scramble out and up on to the bank. Stupid creatures, it was all right, she was drowning. I glanced at Kiki–then an idea came to mind. “Trish, hold on to Kiki, don’t let her go anywhere.” I grabbed the dog and undid her leather collar, she immediately frisked about and I shouted at her to sit. She sat.

I held the plastic handle of the leash, it was really a string that was rewound on a spring thing. It was about fifty feet long. I began drawing out the line, it might not be strong enough, but it was better than doing nothing.

When I got to the end of the line, all fifty feet coiled in my hand, I watched to see where the woman was, she’d disappeared. My heart sank. Where was she? She bobbed–up still in midstream, rapidly washing towards the bridge.

I shouted at her, “Catch the line.” I threw it but it flopped in the water a few feet ahead of me. It wasn’t heavy enough, and worse then that, Kiki’s collar had come off it. Oh shit, this was not going well.

I pulled the string out and after tying it around my wrist, flung the handle end towards the woman, who’d gone under and bobbed up again. The fight as going out of her, possibly from cold and shock.

In slow motion, I watched the red plastic handle fly towards her, and almost bash her on the head, falling just beyond her. I tugged on it and it hit her as I pulled. She automatically grabbed it. “Hold on,” I screamed at her, doubting whether she’d hear me against the roaring of the water. “Stay there,” I told the kids as I ran towards one side of the bridge.

The line snagged on something and I stopped to see it was caught on the side of the bridge. If I pulled too hard it would snap and all would be lost. I ran to the snag and freed it, I hoped she was hanging on.

I ran around the buttress of the bridge and down the bank tugging gently on the string. I felt some resistance and hoped it was still her hanging on to it. I felt my feet slip as I descended the bank and I sat down with a thump on the wet grass, about six feet from the rushing water. I tugged on the string and saw the bundle of clothes halt in its rush to the bridge. She must have wrapped it around her arm.

In the distance sirens sounded, help was coming, if only I could hold on to her, and if she didn’t drown or die of cold. I pulled her gently along the bank away from the bridge, trying to keep my footing on the slippery grass. A fire engine came hurtling across the park, churning grass as it drove towards us.

Moments later, two burly men ran up with a ladder. “My dog’s lead,” I said pointing to the string, she’s on the other end.”

“What your dog? We heard there was a woman.”

“The woman,” I shouted back.

The sirens of an ambulance grew louder as it came towards us. Two more firemen held the ladder as the one who’d spoken to me clung on to it and grabbed the end of my line, he pulled it and then snatched at the bundle of rags, it eluded him and he swore.

Once more he leant out and tugged the line, pulling the bundle towards him. He snatched again and this time he grabbed her. Another fireman slid down the bank, grabbing the ladder, he helped to pull the unconscious woman out of the water. Another helped to heave her up the bank and the ambulance crew came dashing up. One of them cut the line before I could tell him it was my dog’s lead. Now how was I going to get Kiki, not the most attentive spaniel, back to the car?

Remembering the dog, I suddenly thought of the children. I walked back towards them as the paramedics fought to save the life of the unfortunate female.

“Kiki’s been a naughty girl,” said Trish.

“Never mind, let’s go home, eh?”

“Yes, Mummy,” said Mima and she hugged my legs crying. “I was fwighted.”

“It’s okay sweetheart, you’re safe now.”

As we walked back towards the car, a police officer approached me. “Was it you who called 999?”

“Yes, officer.”

“And you held her against the current?”

“Sort of, with my dog’s lead, although the paramedic ruined it.”

“Sorry, about that. Do you know how long she’s been in the water?”

“About five to ten minutes, she fell in trying to rescue her dog. That’s it, the stupid Labrador over there.” I pointed. “She fell in and it got out.”

“So you saw it, then?”

“All of it.” He took my name and called in reporting it to some central control.

“We might need a statement, hang on, weren’t you there when that boy died sledging?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “I hope this one turns out happier.”

Movement caught my eye and I turned to see the ambulance go screaming off. I offered a silent prayer to the God I don’t believe in–well maybe she did?

“Are you going to catch her dog?” I asked the copper.

“Nope, the dog warden can do that, it might be nasty with strangers.”

“Oh bollocks,” I said and called the bewildered animal which trotted towards me. When it got to me, I grabbed its trailing lead and gave it to the copper. “Here, pretend you’re a lion tamer.” Then to the dog, I said, “Sit,” it did and so did Kiki.

We did manage to get back to the car, where I nearly had a heart attack. I couldn’t find my keys. Mima held them up to me. “Where did you get those?”

“You dwopped them, Mummy, I picked um up.”

“You are a clever girl, in fact you are both very clever girls.” The dog barked as if it recognised being left out. “Okay, Kiki, you’re a clever girl, too.” We all laughed and I opened the car.

On the way home we passed a pet shop, so I was able to get another extending lead, I also got Kiki, the largest bone I could find. The femur of a sheep or pig, they call them, ‘postman’s legs’. The meat was cooked and I knew she’d spend the afternoon stripping it off.
In the newsagent next door, I bought myself a chocolate bar and the girls a small pack of chocolate buttons each. I felt in need of a sugar hit, and assumed they might as well. They didn’t argue, that was for sure. Mima was about to give some to Kiki, when I stopped her. “Meems, don’t give chocolate to Kiki, it’s poisonous to them, it can make them very, very ill.” Mima went scarlet and faced back to the front of the car.

“Look at the time. Where have you been?” asked an anxious Stella. “I nearly got them to drag the river for you.”

“Don’t, Stella, it’s not funny.”

“What are you on about?”

“Mummy helped pull a lady from the river,” said Trish beaming.

“Oh no,” gasped Stella.

“Yes she did, she puwwed hew out with Kiki’s wead.”

“Eh?” said Stella.

“She used the dog’s lead to rescue her,” Trish translated.

“Goodness, what a resourceful lady your mummy is?”

“Actually, she’s very clever,” said Trish.

“Vewy cweva,” echoed Mima.

“Woof,” said Kiki, so maybe it was unanimous?

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Comments

Doesn't count

Kiki is just a dog, her opinion doesn't count. :-)

Yuri!

Yuri!

Just a dog. JUST A DOG!

Just a dog. JUST A DOG!

Someone that says that it's just a dog, has never loved a dog!

Agreed. Probably thinks the

Agreed. Probably thinks the dog doesn't understand.

Claire Stafford

I agree, Kiki is just a dog. Now if it had been Bonzi ...

or one of Bonzi's relatives, then the opinion would count.

Whew! Cathy did it without endangering herself or the girls, and I'm sure Trish's mnaturity kept Mima and Kiki from getting on trouble, too

It’s not given to anyone to have no regrets; only to decide, through the choices we make, which regrets we’ll have,
David Weber – In Fury Born

Holly

It's nice to be important, but it's more important to be nice.

Holly

Memories of Timmy The Dog

"Woof," said Kiki, immediately brought back memories of Enid Blyton's Famous Five stories that I so adored as a child; they often had George's faithful friend, Timmy saying "Woof" in agreement with something his mistress said. (George was really Georgina, but she insisted that she was really a boy, but the books were written in an age when it is doubtful whether the word transgendered even existed and certainly could never be mentioned in front of the children.)

Gabi.

Gabi.


“It is hard for a woman to define her feelings in language which is chiefly made by men to express theirs.” Thomas Hardy—Far from the Madding Crowd.

The rate Cathy is going with

The rate Cathy is going with her "saves", even tho one sadly ended with the child dying, I would expect to see her being honored by the local police and the city mayor. She does deserve something for all her efforts. J-Lynn

Either that or

Either that or asked to leave town. Accidents just seem to follow Cathy around...

It was nice that Cathy....

Was following basic lifesaving principals... Back in the day, we were taught Reach, Throw, Row, go. Meaning you reached for the subject (we were not allowed to call them victims, as a victim was dead) with your hand, a stick/pole or a rope like object. Throw was you tossed flotation to the rescuee (though flotation attached to a rope was good too... Row meant you took a boat (or other significant flotation device) and went to the subject. And, as a last resort, you actually went into the water after the subject...

I'm amazed the extendable line that was good enough for Kiki was sufficient to not break with the lady on the other end.

Tris and Mimi were realy good, as Cathy noted. I wonder what PC Bond will have to say THIS time. :-)

Thanks,
Annette

Hopefully...

...PC Bond doesn't come knocking on the door at all, since that would probably be to help fill out a report for the coroner's inquiry.

No, a nice bundle of flowers from the woman's husband, or a photographer sticking a camera in her face to get a picture of the heroine for the town newspaper, would be much better.

Judging from the string of events, as related in the story, even if the woman drowned, she hasn't been anoxic long enough to not be completely revivable, given the least amount of competence by the emergency folks. Cold water is a good factor in surviving drowning for extended periods, too (incidences over 30 minutes have been recorded). Thanks (?) to various incidents of children drowning after falling through ice into cold water, it's now a rule of thumb that a chilled drowning victim isn't to be considered dead until you've warmed them back up to body temperature and they still won't respond to resuscitation. I think it goes something like, "They're not dead until they're warm and dead."

Cathy And Rescues

Go hand in hand. But she still needs to wear spandex when she is Super Cathy, but then, she's get it stinky wearing it all the time.
May Your Light Forever Shine

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

Eeeewwwwww, Stan!…

…Gross! (as my daughter is wont say to such remarks.)

Hilary

Obviously....

Puddintane's picture

Cathy has memorised the Girl Guiding Handbook and takes the motto seriously...

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Cheers,

Puddin'

A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style

Perhaps more than a fair share...

Puddintane's picture

But then she's often out where things happen, either on a bike or just out and about in her daily life, which doesn't involve all that much sitting in cubicles in office buildings.

If you're out and about, and pay attention, these things do happen.

Once, whilst driving down the road on a dual carriageway, I saw a tyre and wheel fly off a car and bounce down the road at high speed, threatening to cross the central reservation and hurtle into oncoming traffic. A motorcycle police officer saw the accident and quickly accelerated, overtaking the bouncing wheel and manoevering his bike in such a way as to turn it back into the stream of traffic, taking a high-speed fall rather than risk the death of an innocent motorist. I was the first on the scene, turned off his motorcycle and called for help on his radio, then helped raise the heavy bike off his leg in company with another motorist who ran up behind me.

The officer acted heroically, but the other motorist and I weren't exactly cowards, because we stopped our vehicles in the middle of the road to protect the patrolman, got out of our vehicles to rescue him, in spite of the risk of being run down by an inattentive idiot searching on the floor for his dropped cigarette (it happens) and persevered. Behind us, other mororists stopped and got out of their own vehicles to flag down and warn oncoming traffic, a line of minor heroes who responded admirably, as most people do, when another human being is in trouble.

Once, at the Fillmore Auditorium (Country Joe and the Fish), a man had an epileptic (Grand Mal) seizure right next to me, and I protected him from well-meaning onlookers and accompanied him to the back office, where Bill Graham scurried about saying loudly "I've got thorazine!" whilst I tried to tell him that there was no "antidote" to the "bad trip" of a seizure. Eventually, they figured out that I wasn't his girlfriend (they asked me his name and I hadn't a clue, not having had the foresight to have lifted his wallet to see) so they chucked me out of the office, to my chagrin, leaving the poor fellow in the hands of cretins.

That night was the last I used alcohol or any sort of drug, because if my judgment hadn't been slightly impaired, I would have remembered to check his wallet. I take better care of my brain these days.

Over the years, I've seen (in a purely civilian life) perhaps a dozen people die before my eyes (maybe more -- one tries not to remember the worst), some horribly, some not so much, been first aider to dozens more, and probably had more than my fair share as well, because many of my "jobs" have been outside of offices and immediate supervisors. It's astonishing how much these jobs separate one from, not just the sun and weather.

I see Cathy as a sort of "Everywoman," the ideal Girl Guide, competent, resourceful, and always ready to respond when people need help.

Isn't that what she's doing now? She really *ought* work on her attitude about this tendency, but nobody is prefect.

Perfectly,

Puddin'
-----------------
The individual woman is required a thousand times a day to choose either to accept her appointed role and thereby rescue her good disposition out of the wreckage of her self-respect, or else follow an independent line of behavior and rescue her self-respect out of the wreckage of her good disposition.
--- Jeannette Rankin

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Cheers,

Puddin'

A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style

Love The Rankin Quote

I love your Jeanette Rankin quote. I'm not sure entirely what it means, but I'm fairly certain it's important to figure out.

Typical Lab!

Labradors are natural born swimmers - and more than capable of getting into mischief (they're magnetically attracted to water - the dirtier, the better!)


As the right side of the brain controls the left side of the body, then only left-handers are in their right mind!

Cathy

Cathy has the right stuff. Instead of dithering she thinks. Rare, but badly needed.

Same thing I was going to

Same thing I was going to say. Getting those brain pathways firing in the right direction faster than others is usually what makes a non trained person a hero. The ability to see the scene and deduce what needs to be done is something that can be taught but some folks have it naturally these are the ones that stop while others drive by.


I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair

Work at a rodeo

How did you think of this ?

Cefin

Five hundred fifty chapters

Five hundred fifty chapters and I'm still reading... So how many lives has Cathy saved now? I've lost count.