Doggy Death Wishes

So apparently our very cute puppy has a death wish: first, about two weeks after we got here, she was hanging out around the car and her leg was partially run over by the car. She limped for a few days but seemed to get over it until she was playing around some cinder blocks in our yard (there's some construction going on) and it fell on the very same leg, both bruising it and cutting the flesh slightly. She seemed to be doing okay for a solid 3 weeks in there, then was gnawing on a heavy wooden board that was propped up against the wall and it fell on her back left leg. The final blow? Alice, Marissa and I came back from grocery shopping tonight to find pools of radiant red blood all over our porch: puddles on the yoga mats, smears on the rocks, paw prints sprinkled around. It was already dark by this time so we popped out our headlamps and did some rudimentary first aid by washing out the wound, filling it with neosporin, and tying strips of newly laundered t-shirts around the gash. It was deep on her lower leg, sliced almost to the bone and bleeding long and hard. When I first wrote this blogpost I forgot to include the most comical part (if it's okay that something so serious might be comical): our night guard/watchman (whose English is sometimes indecipherable) said that the "big cat" did it. Now, there is a fat grey cat who has been seen in our garden from time to time, but if this cat was responsible for Kamba's wound, there would be a cheetah in our back yard and I'd be terrified to walk from our car to the house. After doing a little crime scene investigation we deduced that she had hit into some glass resting on the side of the house and that it probably cut cleanly though, a neat slice. We're taking her to the vet first thing in the morning, and as we speak she's sleeping soundly at my feet. Witnessing the whole ordeal made me wish I knew more though, made me wish I could do more, take action, know that I had done all that I could possibly do to remedy the situation.