Finn, a Springer Spaniel came in to see me one morning. He had seen Bill a day or two earlier for vomiting and lethargy, and he hadn't gotten any better. I read through his notes and gave him a quick check over before deciding we needed to x-ray him to see if anything was stuck. His owner was quite teary and gave him a very sad, lingering goodbye.
I injected him with some sedatives and set up the x-ray machine ready to take some images of his abdomen. Within minutes I had a picture of his insides with a very sinister looking lump in it. Flynn was 14, and not a good candidate for surgery. Old dogs don't heal very well, run a higher risk of anaesthetic complications and, sad as it is, financially it doesn't stack up. It's also a lot to put an old man through just to get you another few months. I called and spoke to his owner and she decided the best option was to put him to sleep. It was what she had expected. She said herself and her daughter would be down shortly.
Finn was still very sleepy when they arrived, I had to carry him through to the consulting room so they could spend a few minutes with him and say goodbye. As soon as he heard their voices, his tail started to wag, despite being so groggy he couldn’t lift his head. Everybody braced themselves as I started to gather the equipment I needed. And then they started to talk. A lot of owners faced with the imminent loss of their friend, companion and family member start to tell you about their personality and escapades. Finn it seems was no ordinary spaniel. He was a working dog. I asked if he was trained to the gun? No no they said – he's a sniffer dog from Ireland. That's why he's called Finn. It turned out that with the new-found peace in Northern Ireland there was a surplus of army dogs. He was retired off and rehomed to the McCarthys. But the thing was that nobody ever told Finn he had retired, so every time they carried a rucksack or a bag, he had to give it the all clear. As soon as the shopping had been brought into the house he unpacked it all over the kitchen floor, then sat in the middle of the debris, wagging his tail, signalling that they hadn't accidently brought home any Semtex today. He was fascinated by lights and would follow a searchlight or a torchbeam anywhere. He was particularly pleased when a neighbour fitted a motion sensor security light. Every time it clicked on Finn would jump to attention, ready to go! Wherever he walked it was always in a straight line. They couldn’t go on a circular walk, it had to be a square.
I stroked his ears whilst they told me of his efforts to keep their family safe over the past few years, then, with a lump in my throat, started to push the fatal injection into his vein. I stepped back to let them hold him whilst he slept away.
Four months later a woman came into the surgery asking to put up a poster on one of our notice boards. I recognised her as a client, but wasn't sure which dog she belonged to. She showed me her poster and immediately I recognised the picture of a confident eager looking Springer Spaniel. The poster was advertising a reward for the return of a lost mobile phone, probably dropped along the side of the river at the end of August. “It's not the phone I'm bothered about” said Mrs McCarthy, swallowing to keep her breaking voice under control- “all my pictures of Finn are on that phone. I just want to see my boy”.
Later in the year I was in the middle of a busy morning surgery when I was greeted by two shining happy faces and a small puppy. Mrs McCarthy and her daughter were bursting with pride in their latest acquisition – a sandy coloured cairn terrier. This wee tearaway was a bundle of joy and mischief, undaunted by a trip to the big bad vets. She introduced herself to me by clambering up my front and licking my face, biting my nose in the process. I gave her a thorough check over, and satisfied that she was the very picture of health except for a very small fatty hernia at her belly button, gave her the second part of her puppy vaccinations.
It was late on a winter afternoon when we got the phone call. Bonnie was throwing up. Her owner had seen it all before and was terrified, it seemed like history was repeating itself. The dog was still bright and happy but decidedly out of sorts and unable to keep anything down. I told them to come straight to the surgery.
Bonnie greeted me in her usual fashion, all tail, enthusiasm and licks. I started to gently feel her belly, and just at my fingertips thought I felt something hard. She winced.
“I think we’d better get an x-ray” I said. “I’m worried Bonnie has swallowed something”.
“It’s a stone out of the drive” Mrs McCarthy said “I’m pretty sure of it.”
“Okay, lets get a look and see what we find. If there’s something there I’m going to have to take it out as soon as possible before it can cause any more damage. I need you to sign…” I was cut off mid flow
“Whatever you think. Do whatever you need to do, I trust you.”
“That’s great, but I need you to sign a form for me”
“Whatever you want, Heather, just fix her.”
I got the consent forms signed and picked Bonnie up with one arm to put her in the kennel that the nurses had already set up for her. “See to get the stone, you’ll have to cut her open? When you’re in there, can you fix her hernia?” I smiled.
“Not a problem, I’d have to stitch it all back up anyway.”
“And do you think you could spay her? We were going to get it done next month anyway.
The surgery was a great success, the lump was indeed a stone from the driveway, and I was able to perform three operations in one, spaying her and repairing the hernia at the same time. Bonnie went home that night with a neat row of stitches, a basket muzzle and a bill for £350. Her owners pledged their undying gratitude. I went home for my tea, pleased to be able to give the family a happy ending this time.
