I say must have because I didn't see it. Didn't even know he'd decided to go over the gate until I heard him scream. That's when I saw him, hanging head down and thrashing about in a bit of a panic. Enough of a panic, in fact, that when I got there to help him, he bit me on the little finger. Mind you, I didn't notice at the time, and he didn't break skin (possibly realizing in his doggie mind that putting teeth on Boss is not such a good idea? Not likely given his state of mind at the time), but I've quite a bruise going.
That would be my right little finger; the hand I initially tried to support him underneath as my left grabbed his collar and lifted. Once I got him head-upright he quieted a bit, and then again a bit more when I freed his paw. Which was quite easy, without his weight forcing his foot to act as a lever and locking it between wire and rail.
I squatted down and sat him down and held him until he calmed a bit more, still whimpering. Then I carefully ran my hands over his foot, gently moving all the joints and feeling for deformities or crepatis which is the feel of broken bone edges moving across each other. None of that, nor even any cuts, and all his toes moved as well. He wasn't too happy about it, whimpering still, but not trying to run away either.
Then I did something which a couple of you will recognize right off. Holding his paw rather loosely between my hands, I extended ki into him. His whimpering slowed and stopped, he looked at my hands not quite holding his paw, looked up at me... and licked my ear.
Ki. The Chinese term sounds as chi, and in either language the concept is an energy flow; a living energy. Go ahead, call it the Force. Doesn't matter. I've felt it, my first introduction being through reading about it but the first real experience being in an Aikido dojo in Orlando more years ago than I sometimes care to contemplate. I stopped attending Aiki classes a bit over 20 years back, though I still practice with short staff (jo) and wooden sword (boken).
Smudge stood up when I released his paw, touched it very lightly to the ground and then lifted it, limping off. He still doesn't want to bear any weight on it. I figure he's got quite a good sprain in that ankle. What amuses me about this not terribly humorous situation is, ten minutes later he limped over to me and sat in front of me, left side to my legs and right hind paw up slightly off the ground, and looked me in the eye.
Yes, we did another round of ki-flow. In fact, we've done several through the day.
Now, someone recently mentioned to me (sight unseen, I might add) they figure I'm pretty good at what I do, taking care of people, nursing. I appreciated the comment, even with my cynically humorous responses. What I do, taking care of people in surgery, there's not a lot of direct feedback from patients. People don't become Operating Room Theatre Nurses if they need that feedback from patients. It's not that we don't like chatting with them; we do. In fact, it's a bit of a challenge to get all the info we need to make plans in the ten minutes or so we'll see them in Preop.
It's that we get pretty good at judging our own performance. I know when I've done good; I know what I could have done better. I definitely know what the outcome is if things go worse, because I've Been There, Done That, bought and sold the damn t-shirt.
So it's pretty amusing to experience a dog come up to me, sit down, and say in body language what Daniel said to Mr. Miyagi in the original "Karate Kid" in the locker room during the Big Tournament, his knee hurting from the illegal strike by his opponent: Would you please do that thing with your hands?