by Gillian Hick
Although her seizures were well under control, I was still concerned about her slightly less-than-adequate neurological function. Whether the seizures had been from some form of trauma, or the severity of the seizures had resulted in some degree of brain damage, Titch seemed to have been left with limited vision, and her spatial awareness was questionable. As a result of this, she took great offence at being assisted into and out of her kennel each time and it was hard to assess her true personality as it took some weeks before she didn’t look like she was being attacked by a giant monster every time we tried anything more than the most basic of handling. As food was most definitely her passion, she began to put on weight at an alarming rate, as we offered regular nibbles in an attempt to win her fragile confidence.
With her slow recovery and questionable temperament, I assumed that Titch was simply going to take over where Twister had left off in becoming the new resident. Almost two months after her arrival, her condition had improved to the extent that she could lead a happy, once somewhat sheltered life, within the right environment. The right environment came in the form of one of our vet students, who saw through the traumatised little creature and, at the end of her two-week work placement, arrived with a cat carrier. I was happy to discharge Titch to full-time veterinary care, leaving the empty kennel available for the next homeless crisis!
Chapter 11
I Love You!
It’s often been observed that animals can resemble their owners either in looks or in personality. Over the years, I have certainly come across many such cases. In one instance, I laughed as a long-coated sandy coloured terrier cross arrived, wriggling impatiently in the mother’s arms, followed by a trail of kids in descending order, all adorned with identical sandy-coloured locks. When I commented to the mother she assured me it was a total coincidence, but that I wasn’t the first person to have noticed. Her biggest concern was that with advancing years, she might have to make regular trips to the hairdresser to keep up with them!
Oftentimes, short, squat men arrive with short, squat dogs while lithe, flowing women arrive accompanied by a dainty little whippet or the likes.
In terms of personality, oftentimes the temperaments match also and I have seen many apparently quiet, placid pups turn into deranged lunatics when in the company of crazy children. In complete reverse, a nervy, hyper dog adopted from an animal shelter can become an oasis of calm when integrated into a household of serene owners. Sometimes the personalities match from the start, but more often, the characteristics of the animals and their owners over time merge to meet each other.
Looks and personalities are not where the similarities end. It’s always difficult when an obese pet comes in accompanied by an obese owner. It is the duty of a vet to advise the owner on the health risks and to recommend appropriate intervention, but it can be hard to do this in a way that does not seem judgemental towards the owner.
Other medical conditions can also be mimicked from owner to pet. One family in particular had three small children, all with varying degrees of allergy. Of course, as always, the dog was blamed. It always drives me crazy when medical advice is simply to get rid of the pet. When I was six, I was confirmed to suffer from allergy to pet hair and, of course, medical advice at the time was to get rid of the cat. But as the youngest of five, with four older siblings who had no interest in animals, I had fought long and hard to get that cat. Winky, the stunningly beautiful long-haired tabby with the intense green eyes, was the first true love of my life!
Luckily, when even at such a tender age I stoically informed my mother that if Winky went, I was going with her, she believed me and so we both stayed. As I pointed out to her at the time, I already had hard-set plans to become a vet, so I might as well get used to it. And I did, despite ongoing health issues. In time, my immune system did give up the battle, allowing me, many years later to fulfil my six-year-old self’s vision.
Luckily, the allergic kids in question had an open-minded mother, who fully accepted that the benefits of dog ownership far outweighed the risks, and we worked together to find a way of minimising the allergic effect. Daisy, the dog, quickly adapted to her new regime, but then in time developed allergies herself. She was the classic ‘big sister’ dog to those small children, both in terms of her large size – she was some sort of mastiff cross – but also in her sheer presence in the kids’ life. When her allergies developed, the family were fully convinced that she was just going out in sympathy with them. And it never once crossed my mind to tell the mother to get rid of the kids, even though, undoubtedly, their unending supply of treats was adding to her condition!
In my own case, having been born with dislocated hips, almost every animal I ever owned has had or developed some sort of hip issue. Of course, the fact that I have a particular attraction towards German shepherds doesn’t help, but it certainly seems to me that when choosing our pets, it doesn’t happen by accident!
Nearing the end of a clinic, one beautifully bright June morning, I was reminded of this theory as I opened the consulting room door to admit my next clients.
Johan and Sylvia were new clients and had made the most of the Monday morning queue, waiting outside on the grassy lawn in front of the clinic with their new puppy. When I went out to call them, I was taken aback for a moment at the picture of the stunningly handsome couple, both tall and slender with dark features, looking like they had just stepped out of the latest edition of a celebrity magazine. They rested gracefully on the uneven grass, and I hoped that no previous patient had left a calling card, as the couple sat in pristine white – him in fashionable trousers and her in a flowing skirt.
Equally remarkable was their dog. While I have always admired German shepherds, as the years went by, due to intense overbreeding, the pups coming to the clinic have become increasingly poor looking. This pup was different. Straus, at a mere fourteen weeks old, was simply enormous. He sat regally between them, perfectly relaxed and confident despite the totally unfamiliar surroundings. The little terrier from my previous consultation, who barked furiously at him as she was hauled back into her owner’s car, didn’t seem to faze him in the least – it was almost as though she didn’t exist. Straus, sat, alert and sure of himself, taking it all in through his big intelligent eyes. The threesome were really that perfect picture and I suddenly felt shabby-looking and became acutely conscious of my scrubs that, although spotlessly clean at the start of the clinic, had surely succumbed to a few stray dog hairs or dribbles or who knew what else? I resisted the urge to run back in and change and tidy myself up!
On a few occasions previously, living as we do in the picturesque garden of Ireland, travelling celebrities had arrived unannounced to the clinic, on holiday with their beloved pets. Unfortunately, due to the total occupation of my life between family and work, social media was not something that ever got a look in, so usually these clients went over my head, until they left the premises and one of the nurses informed me who they were. On one such occasion, I remember a slightly dishevelled-looking guy, whose name came up as a new client on the clinical records, coming in with what looked like a cross-breed pitbull. I wondered throughout the consultation whether he would pay or not, only to be informed by the nurses afterwards that he was in fact a star of some TV show and owned a holiday home in Wicklow and had indeed paid his bill in full.
It did cross my mind that the couple on the grass in front of me could be some sort of celebrities, and that maybe a few hidden cameras would be following in after them.
After a cursory brush down of my clothes, I called to them and ushered them into the clinic. Straus trotted along to heel as though he had never done anything else, and sat patiently on the weighing scales, before following the couple into the consulting room.
Johan introduced himself in flawless English, with only the slightest trace of a foreign accent that I couldn’t quite place. As he shook hands with a firm grip, I couldn’t help but notice the deep hazel eyes and his intense presence, and again I beca
me slightly self-conscious.
‘Allow me to introduce my wife, Sylvia, to you,’ he began. ‘Apologies from her, but she does not have good English. Yet,’ he added teasingly looking at her. Sylvia smiled warmed at me with equally enchanting eyes.
‘Well, I have absolutely no German, so you are way ahead of me,’ I said to Sylvia, hoping she would get the gist of it and waiting while Johan translated. We both laughed as she understood. Despite the language barrier, she seemed to speak a million words with her eyes, and I felt sure we would have no problem understanding each other. Throughout the consultation, I was grateful for the presence of Straus, who, although equally stunning, at least allowed me feel more in control of the encounter and somewhat back in my comfort zone.
As I hauled his enormous body up onto the consulting table, I joked that before long he wouldn’t fit on it at all. It felt futile carrying out a clinical exam on him, but I diligently checked his eyes and ears and teeth, before placing a stethoscope on his chest to hear his strong heartbeat. Although it is not possible to fully assess a German shepherd’s hips until they are skeletally mature, his conformation was flawless and his already strongly muscled legs for a pup of his age were very reassuring. I wasn’t surprised when, on questioning, it turned out that Straus had been imported from a German breeder.
Although now it is compulsory for dogs to be microchipped, back then there was no such legislation so I was delighted to see all of Straus’ paper work in full order and with a correct microchip. His vaccinations had been started in Germany, so today’s visit was simply to put him through a health check and administer his follow-up injections. He never flinched as I injected him, but graciously turned to lick me as I hoisted him down off the table – as perfectly assured and warm as his owners. For the duration of the consultation, every time I spoke, Johan would patiently translate each sentence to Sylvia who would always smile and nod back to me.
Straus became a regular visitor to the clinic after that. Thankfully never for any major health issues, but just for routine check-ups and weight monitoring. Everything was always perfectly in order. I couldn’t imagine it would ever be any different. In time, I discovered that Johan was a life and fitness coach, and had set up his own business in the area, which was unsurprisingly thriving. Sylvia was a playschool teacher, which seemed to suit her perfectly with her warm, friendly manner, but she was trying to learn English before taking up work. I became used to our three-way consultations as Johan continued to translate each sentence to Sylvia.
Routine neutering is something I strongly advocate to all clients, for many health and social reasons, but in Straus’s case I didn’t suggest it to them as he matured. I know it is less common on the continent, and somehow there was always something so special about him and his behaviour was always impeccable that I couldn’t suggest it.
Although they were probably one of the nicest couples we had as clients, and Straus was one of my favourite patients, their perfection was almost overwhelming at times. On days they were booked into the clinic, I found myself picking out a slightly more formal pair of jeans and making sure I brushed my hair at least! Despite my years of clinical experience, I always felt somewhat inept in their presence.
For as long as Straus came to me, both Johan and Sylvia always accompanied him, so I was surprised one day to see Sylvia on her own in the waiting room. I had never spoken directly to Sylvia without Johan to translate, so it was somewhat difficult to interpret as although she was studying English, her limited vocabulary did not, at the time, extend to veterinary issues. With a bit of miming and some educated guesswork, I figured out that Straus had vomited.
These days, far from lifting Straus onto the table, I sat down on the floor beside him. As always, he seemed in impeccable order, his now maturing coat was thick and glossy. On examination, nothing seemed amiss, apart from some very slight tenderness in his abdomen. With some dogs, it can be difficult to examine deep inside the abdomen as they are so tense, but with Straus it was difficult simply because he was so well-mannered that I knew that even if I was hurting him he wouldn’t object or react in any way. I carefully watched his face for any signs of blinking or licking that would indicate discomfort as I probed his internal organs, but there was nothing. I was slightly apprehensive at not being able to procure a full history from Sylvia, but nothing overly concerned me about Straus’ clinical examination. I indicated to Sylvia, as best I could, not to feed Straus for the rest of the day, just to allow him water, and to ring me the next morning if there was any change.
As always, she smiled warmly before leaving the clinic and I didn’t expect to hear any more for the time being.
I was wrong. The minute I looked out the door the next morning and saw their foreign-registered Jeep waiting outside the gate. I knew there was something amiss. As the perfect clients, they had never shown up unannounced, always ringing ahead and graciously accepting whatever appointment was offered.
Despite having to get the kids to school, I let them in straight away as Amanda hadn’t yet arrived to open up.
One look in the boot of the Jeep confirmed my suspicion. Straus lay stretched out on a blanket, drooling, head hanging limply to one side. As I put my hands on him, he made brief eye contact with me, but then lost focus, his eyes appearing to sink back into his enormous head.
For the first time ever, Johan seemed agitated. Even his perfect English deteriorated slightly.
‘He has been vomiting – every time I wake in the night. I give him water and he is vomiting again.’
‘But when I saw him yesterday he was so bright!’ I said, as much to myself.
‘When did he get like this?’ I asked, indicating the collapsed body in the back of the jeep.
‘When we went to bed he was happy, like normal, but since maybe three in the morning, he does not want get up,’ replied Johan, while tears slowly began to trickle down Sylvia’s, for once unmade-up face.
I felt like berating him for not ringing me sooner. Providing a twenty-four/seven on-call service means that I always sleep with my phone beside me. I would have seen Straus hours ago if I had known he was like this, but now was not the time for that discussion.
Between us, we carried the great frame into the kennels and I explained how I would start him on intravenous fluid therapy immediately and take a blood sample, which I would run in our recently acquired in-house blood testing equipment to see if it would give us any clues as to the cause of his illness. As always, despite his strain, Johan relayed each sentence to Sylvia, almost as an automatic reflex. Her eyes brimmed up again as he relayed my guarded prognosis. Something that could cause such a drastic effect on such a strong dog was not good news.
For the first time ever, as I tried to reassure them that I would do everything possible to save Straus and at least to make him comfortable, I lost my usual feeling of inadequacy. As they both shook hands with me on leaving, for once, it felt like I was supporting them.
The day that followed was a blur. When Amanda arrived at nine, I eventually dropped the kids to school – their teacher being, by now, accustomed to the nature of my job. By then Straus was set up on fluids and I left Amanda running the blood tests that might give us some vital clues as to the cause of Straus’ collapse. Having blood results so quickly would be Godsend as I feared that sending them away to a laboratory would be too late to help him. When the results came through, I was feeling slightly less grateful. Apart from being severely dehydrated, Straus’ kidney and liver enzymes were sky high, indicating multiple organ failure. Although I couldn’t be certain, the most likely cause was poisoning and the blood results mirrored my feeling of doom as I watched his once magnificent body, which seemed to have shrivelled overnight.
I broke the news to Johan over the phone – I could hear Sylvia in the background on the speaker-phone and listened patiently as he translated each sentence. Although deep down I felt it was hopeless, I told them we would treat him intensively over the morning, to see if he would respond.
I offered referral to the emergency hospital in Dublin, but I was glad when they declined as, realistically, I felt it would just put all of them through more stress without any significant chance of offering a better outcome.
Despite all my feelings of inadequacy, Johan and Sylvia said they both trusted my judgement and the care we had taken of Straus until now, and they wanted him to stay with us, whatever the outcome. Amanda and I were quiet as we took a coffee break, neither of us wanting to acknowledge the reality that the outlook was fairly awful.
With the anti-emetic medication I had administered to Straus, his vomiting ceased, which at least gave him some relief. I sat with him whenever I could snatch a few minutes between patients, but he seemed to be far away, barely aware of my presence. I increased the fluid rate and the diuretics in an attempt to flush out his traumatised organs, adding intravenous steroids and a B-vitamin injection, frantically administering anything that might alleviate his condition, denying even to myself that he was dying in front of my eyes, whatever the cause.
I struggled to focus as I made my way through the morning’s routine neutering operations, thankful that there was nothing too challenging that required my full attention.
Over the morning, Straus neither improved nor disimproved, but just lay there as though fighting his own internal battle, oblivious to our struggles to save him.
I kept in touch with Johan and Sylvia over the day, each time ringing with no news, but knowing that they needed to feel they were keeping in touch. At lunch time, I suggested that they visit him after the evening clinic. Usually I discourage owners from visiting when their pets are hospitalised as although the animals can be really happy to see their owners, they are usually more upset when they leave, firstly because they have gone without them, and secondly as our pets are so intuitive to their owners’ feelings that they are aware that there is something upsetting their owner even if they don’t know what. In this case, however, I felt they needed to see how he was after a day of intensive treatment. Nothing was discussed, other than the fact that they should visit.
