Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Medical emergency

The peace and tranquility that is instilled in me by that drive home is soon shattered as I am greeted by one very excited puppy and one very miserable poochie pensioner.

Poor old Benson has hip dysplasia and arthritis, and frequently puts his back out, suffering trapped nerves in the process. Those of you who have ever suffered sciatica will know how the poor dog feels, and when it is particularly bad, he actually gets it in both back legs. This means he quite literally does not know where to put himself - he cannot lie comfortably on either side. So he wanders round the house like a lost soul, tail between his legs (the ONLY time it ever goes there - the rest of the time it is wagging, even when he has been bad) crying in agony.

Clearly Harry has been tormenting his life out since we left them 2 hours ago, and at some point as Benson has tried to take sudden evasive action to stop his bollocks from being bitten, he has injured himself. I can only imagine how he has suffered since then as he has hobbled round trying to avoid the puppy, wimpering at every painful movement. I can only hope it happened just before I arrived home. It is hard not to be mad at Harry, but, of course, he doesn't understand what he has done. He actually dotes on Benson, and obviously he just wanted to play.

Not for the first time do I wonder at the wisdom of acquiring a puppy at this point in Benson's life. I want his remaining years to be good ones, not miserable as he constantly tries to avoid the attentions of a boisterous pup. But we have had a couple of scares with Benson in the last year or so and he has had two tumours removed to date (both benign) and now appears to have two more. He is such a lovely dog that we wanted some of that to rub off on any new dog we have. And so we took the plunge.

It wasn't planned, you understand. Black Labradors are not that common in France, and so to find a litter right in our village from excellent parentage and a bitch who looks almost exactly like Benson seemed like fate. And who am I to buck fate? But clearly it was a selfish decision on our part and Benson is paying the price. I can only hope he weathers the storm, since I would hate to part with Harry. But that is what is going to happen if Benson continues to suffer like this.

All I can do for now is dose Benson up with a strong anti-inflammatory (Metacam) which the vet gave us for occasions like this, and keep him quiet. This means locking him in the salon and Harry in the kitchen - well you can imagine how that one is going down, can't you? You can probably hear the screaming and howling from there. And that is just the puppy. Ironically, Benson is not that happy at being confined on his own either, but they clearly cannot mix until the Metacam kicks in.

I have my breakfast (finally) in the kitchen with Harry, and as I write this, he is finally asleep. As is Benson. Great start to the week!

No comments: