How ironic that last week I blogged about my dog and her toots. Twenty-four hours later she nearly died.
I felt horrendously guilty for not taking her to the vet earlier. But then again, you can hardly tear into a surgery crying, ‘Help! My dog won't stop tooting!’ because most of the time dogs toot a lot - especially beagles who suck cuddly toys, chomp on socks, lick floors, chew on plants, and bust into your dustbin given half a chance to consume heaven only knows what manner of manky leftovers. The fact that they survive and escape unscathed merely fools you into believing they have constitutions of iron. However, by Monday morning it was evident things were very wrong. We hastened to the veterinary surgery.
In the waiting room, a nervous elderly lady was perched on a chair clutching a caged rabbit. The bunny was first in the queue. My pooch was second. Moments later a third patient came into the waiting room – a Staff, wearing a muzzle and sporting a plaster cast on one leg. The Staff growled ominously as it clanked around. Hot on the Staff's heels was a massive German Shepherd. The German Shepherd’s handler yelled, ‘Stand back everybody! Move out the way!’ Exactly where everybody was meant to move to in a postage stamp of a waiting room I'm not sure, but the lady with the bunny was looking absolutely terrified. The Staff spun round to check out the German Shepherd. It was greeted with a row of sharp teeth and baritone growling, whereupon it decided to launch itself at the German Shepherd. There was the sound of plaster cast meeting shaggy skull followed by all hell breaking loose. The dogs tumbled over and over. Leads entangled. Owners shouted. The elderly lady with the bunny flattened herself against one wall. At this point, if you are eating or have a frail tummy, stop reading. Or skip the following paragraph.
As canine war broke out, my terrified beagle's bowels lurched and she promptly crapped herself. But because she wasn't well, what came out was comparable to aerosol mist. My pooch fought against her lead to escape the mayhem, her quarters swinging around the waiting room. And it would be fair to say nobody escaped being spray-canned by my dog's backside. The lady with the bunny nearly fainted. The Staff's plaster cast went from grubby white to chocolate brown. The German Shepherd stopped fighting and looked gobsmacked. And the air turned not just brown but also blue as major swearing broke out. Ever watched Love Story where Ali Macgraw tells Ryan O’Neal, ‘Love is never having to say you’re sorry.’? Well no matter how much you love dogs, sometimes saying sorry just isn’t enough. ‘Sorry,’ I bleated, ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.’ I do not lie when I say everybody, even that bunny, gave me a shitty look.
The vet appeared in the doorway and insisted my pooch was seen first. We walked off down the corridor with my dog's backside spraying leaflets on worming and a wall showcasing a local resident’s designer doggy leads for sale. Total nightmare.
The pooch was diagnosed with Hemorrhagic Gastroenteritis which can be fatal if not dealt with promptly. She was immediately hooked up to a drip and pumped full of antibiotics. One week later she’s fighting fit, once again giving me a run for my money with needing eyes in the back of my head. And hopefully we won't have to go back to the vet's waiting room for a very long time...