My father went through a time when he really loved antique guns. He bought this old flint lock rifle that took gun powder, wads, balls & etc to fire. Dad kept it a while but did not fire it often. Dad eventually decided to get rid of the gun and so he sold it. He was left with old gun powder which he decided to dispose of. His chosen method of disposal of old gun powder was to set fire to it. He took his powder "horn" full of gun powder and poured a large circle in the sand in the back yard.
I was practicing cheerleading in the back yard at the time of this disposal. I was a fair distance away from what he was doing but was aware and therefore watched as I continued to practice. We had this dumb dog named Puddin', I have to tell you he was the dumbest most loveable dog in the world. Puddin' was in his shade enjoying his laziness while I practiced and while dad made his powder circle. As dad struck the match to light the gun powder the dog decided to become curious at that moment and took off running for the match my father had thrown down onto the powder. My father had quickly retreated "just in case." Even though the gunpowder was old and "dead" one must always use caution when working with a dangerous substance.
My dad saw that Puddin' was headed straight for the circle and jumped to the circle to fling the dog away just in time to save the dog. The "dead" gunpowder had exploded with enormous force. When the smoke and dust cleared I did not see my father who had just been standing there, I thought he had been blown to bits. My mother threw open the back door to see what had happened because the explosion had tried to implode the back door. It was then that we heard my father moaning behind the garbage cans in the back yard. The force had blown him back about twelve feet behind the garbage cans. As my mother and I reached him we realized he had been burned pretty badly on his chest and arms and he was very dazed. We helped him to his feet and into the house for my mother to inspect his wounds. We girls gathered outside the bathroom and could hear a river of ugly words rolling off my father's tongue, which was not normal. My mother, it seems, was trying to rinse the soot and stuff off the wounds to see how badly my father was burned. Mom finally gave up and off they went to the hospital in Nogales which was 30 miles away. My father drove extremely fast and kept the windows rolled down and took turns sticking his arms out the window to "cool them off".
When my parents arrived at the Catholic hospital they took them right in. The nuns there worked as nurses, as my father first got there the nuns wrapped his burns with medicine and gauze. The pain was terrific and the medicine was supposed to help. When the doctor finally came in to check his wounds a nun (nurse) came with him, the bandages needed to be removed so the doctor could examine him. The nun began unwrapping the gauze without hesitation or compassion. As she rolled up the gauze she was rolling up flesh as it tore from his arms, he cried out in pain but the nun was not distracted from her work. Dad said it took everything in him not to deck that nun. He said had she not been a nun or a woman he doesn't know if he could have controlled himself. The doctor checked his wounds now freshly opened, applied more medication, gave him some pain medication, rewrapped his arms put a tee shirt over his chest, told him to keep it all lean as the worst problem he would face would be the possible infection then he sent him home.
I have include a few photographs of my father during his recovery. My father could not bend his arms or his fingers so my mother was my fathers arms for the duration of his recovery. Can you see in the photo just how happy he was. It was awful! He carried scars the rest of his life.
The dog, dumb dog, that dad saved had a few head shaking days directly after the incident but recovered fully, as did my father.
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