Yesterday afternoon, when Roo was busy getting yelled at by me for attempting to fish for chipmunks in prohibited waters and stopped the instant she was detected and came to me, her left rear ankle and foot was drenched in blood. There is no broken glass or old barbed wire around. She had to have been slashed either by a suicide chipmunk who drew the short straw and had to try to disable Roo on her own or a thorn. If the former, the suicide chipmunk deserves a medal. She did a pretty good job and lived to fight another day. You have to take your hat off to a chipmunk like that.
Blood injuries mean nothing to Roo. They don't hurt her. They don't get her attention. She doesn't so much as sniff them or seem to notice the blood. The main danger with them is her own first aid, which consists of waiting until it itches when healing and then licking it. The action of her tongue could lick the feathers off a tyrannosaurus rex in under fifteen minutes.
The wound looked horrific. So much blood was dripping that the idea of applying a tourniquet occurred to me. I rinsed the blood off under a hose and clipped the hair away to get a look at the cut. It was small, a slice no more than an inch long, but with a deep end that seemed to be pumping the blood out.
As usual, Roo was a good patient. She lay in the grass observing local chipmunk positions. The chipmunks were unsure of the condition of the enemy. The enemy was down, but a medic appeared to be attending to her. Perhaps their exuberance over the suicide attack was making them a little overconfident. The enemy was more amused than anything else.
Compressing the wound for a few minutes got the blood to stop. I cleaned it out with antiseptic (hat tip to Marc for briefing me on the need to stock up on chlorhexidine with a dog like Roo) and bandaged it up.
The bandage is black, which signifies Roo's state of mourning for the fact that she will be kept on a leash for a couple of days.
Tough luck, Junior.