Wednesday, 30 March 2011

The Further Adventures of Indiana Bones

I’m not letting her say anything this time. I think she’s said enough. In fact I think she’d said more than enough when she said to the vet, “Okay, let’s do it.”

The day had started off innocently enough. Yay, I thought, a ride in the car. I love going out in the car. It saves my little legs the walk to the fields.

But we didn’t go to the fields. We went to the V.E.T. There was a rather attractive and elegant lady Deerhound in the waiting room. She spoke kindly to me and I gave her a sniff – a very polite sniff I should say. We settled down together in a fug of terrified silence.

I was so glad when Elena came out and called my name. I like Elena. She put stuff in my eye and turned off the lights then gazed deep into my eyes. “Still blocked,” she said, peering up my right nostril. “We could flush the tear duct under sedation.”

Then I heard the word “starve” and I’m afraid I went to pieces. I collapsed in a heap on the table as my bones turned to jelly. I don’t do hungry.

I knew something was up. For the next few days people kept patting me on the head and asking after my health. “I’m fine,” I told them. “Leave me alone. I don’t need no operations thank you very much.”

Then there were the sad mournful looks. Blimey, they say spaniels look sad, but we’ve got nothing on those humans. I mentioned my worries to Tilly and she just curled up next to me and sighed. And she kept sighing sadly and looking all miz and bereft. I told her to shut up.

I don’t know about me having a leaky eye, but that human of mine was leaking a bit by Friday. She kept going on about the internet and things she’d read. Like “it not being worth the risk of an anaesthetic” to “left untreated it can lead to blindness and even the loss of an eye.”

And she said “Are we doing the right thing?” about a million times. Not to me. Oh no. No one asked my opinion.

I had my tea early on the Thursday and no chewy in the evening. I kept telling her she’d forgotten, but to no avail. Then Friday morning I went to have a drink and my water bowl had gone. Hey, I said. I always have a drink after breakfast. By the way, when is breakfast? It’s not normally this late and I am starving. If I owned a watch I would have tapped it.

Would you believe she forgot? Then she took me out in the car again – without Tilly. Ha ha, unlucky, I told her as I sped out of the door. I could hear Tilly howling at home as we drove off.

Then I realised we weren’t going to the fields or the woods or the beach. She told me she was going to be leaving me at the vet’s, but would come back for me later. I wasn’t really listening. I could hardly hear anything over the sound of my stomach rumbling. I couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to give me breakfast.

Elena was waiting. She asked me to step on the scales. I was reluctant. A guy has his pride and anyway, when was breakfast?

Mum dumped me on them like I was a piece of meat. I said look, it’s just the occasional bit of food that falls from the hands of small children. It would be churlish to refuse. How can I say no to them?

She said my weight was fine. I knew it would be. Then we went into her surgery. I looked round. I couldn’t see any food. She listened to my chest, checked my gums and – gulp – said she was going to take my temperature. Mum said I’d have to stand up for this bit. Well I don’t know what it had to do with my temperature, but what happened next was a tad embarrassing.

Elena said I was in good health and they discussed the risks of sedation. What about the risks of not giving me breakfast, that’s what I wanted to know. The next thing Elena invited me to go with her through another door. At last! She knew I was hungry and was going to give me breakfast. I left Mum behind in my hurry to get to some food.

I don’t remember much about what happened next. Someone shaved my leg. The next thing I knew I woke up feeling a bit twitchy. A nurse smiled at me and stroked my head and said I was brave. Too blinking right I am – I hadn’t had anything to eat since the night before.

They left me to sleep it off. Sleep what off? My hunger? That doesn’t work. Anyway my stomach was rumbling so loud everyone else was complaining that it was keeping them awake too. And something else occurred to me. I needed a wee.

I dozed on and off, then the nurse came in and said it was time for me to go. Where? To dinner? My legs felt all wobbly and I followed her out to the waiting room. Mum made a big fuss of me. I was so weak from hunger I couldn’t see straight and the room was spinning. The nurse stroked me and said I was a good boy then she said the magic words, “Give him his tea when he gets home.”

Mum had to lift me into the car. I was on the brink of collapse from starvation. I sprawled across her legs. “Aw,” she said. “He’s gone to sleep.” No I hadn’t. I’d passed out from lack of food.

When we got home she tried to take me in the front door, but I still needed a wee – desperately - and refused to go in. She said I was still dopey. Huh! Talk about adding insult to injury. She let me go into the back garden and I rushed over to the nearest bush. I couldn’t even keep my leg up and had to do it like a girl.

Speaking of girls, Tilly came rushing over and licked me all over my face till I was soggy.

She said breakfast had been great and I’d missed a treat. Bacon, eggs, sausage, fried bread, beans, sweet milky tea …. I think she was lying.

But I had the last laugh. Mum made me scrambled eggs to have with my food. Tilly had some too. She said she was glad I was back and she’d missed me. She said it was a price worth paying if we were going to get scrambled eggs and said she’d give it a few days and then poke me in the eye…

A week later I went back to the vet and we had to wait because there’d been an emergency admission. I got shouted at by a cat and had a conversation with a poodle with Cushing’s.

Anyway, Elena looked deep into my eyes and smiled and said I was fine! I said I’d had my breakfast thank you very much, but I wouldn’t mind something else to eat if she had it.

Well at least I came home with no bits of me missing – I still haven’t forgotten that particular “little operation”! But for now, back to having fun.


  1. Very pleased that you are OK, Indy. Thank you to your Mum for explaining it all so well.

  2. Wow Indy. So pleased all OK with you. The writing talent has obviously been passed down - you've made me late so engrossed was I! Hopefully Mum won't be leaking from her eyes either now. Relief all round I guess. :) x

  3. Thank you pierre. It is a relief for sure. I just wish she'd stop looking at that funny little bump on my leg...

    Sorry I made you late, Sue. I am thinking of taking this blog over since I'm far more interesting than herself (not to mention better looking and far more intelligent) :-)

  4. So glad you're back home enjoying life again, Indy. You describe your adventure so well, I was desperate for you to get some food!

  5. Awww Indy!!!! Why didn't they feed you matey? You'll have to come round and tell Oakley all about it - I tell you what I'll come see you tomorrow and I'll bring an extra little person along who always leaves her crusts for you - what do you say pal? xxx

  6. Thank you Rosemary for understanding my desperation. I've had my breakfast today I'm glad to say - no scrambled eggs though!

    Yes please Lizzieoaks! Of course I love to see the little person just for a cuddle, but if she wants to share her lunch I wouldn't hurt her feelings by refusing xxx

  7. Wow, what a wonderful posting, Inky. I'm glad to hear that they are feeding you so well now. Have a great life, Inky

  8. Oh Indy, so sorry you missed your breakfast but you really are a talented writer, you made me laugh so much it quite cheered my day.


  9. Glad Indy is OK - at least the experience doesn't seem to have put him off his food!

  10. I think Indy could be the next Adrian Mole.

  11. Thank you Jarmara!

    Thanks Linda, as well as living to eat I live to please :-)

    THanks Patsy.

    Maybe when he's 13 and 3/4 Keith!

  12. Indy's very brave :o) The twice we've taken Molly to the vet's we've had to wait outside until it was her turn, because she doesn't like other dogs!

  13. Won't that be 96 and 1/4 in dog years?

  14. Tilly's like that, Karen. If there are a lot of other dogs in the waiting room we wait outside!

    I'll take your word for it, Keith!

  15. Well done Indy on being so brave and stoic. What on earth was that woman with the leaky eyes THINKING of, not giving you breakfast?

    I've got a runny eye, too. I've had it for nearly a month now. I was going to go and see the human's doctor about it but I'm wondering if I'll be treated so cruelly and not allowed breakfast, should I do so. I mean, he's very nice and all that but, last time I had a problem, he sent me to a surgeon who told me he was going to stick a needle into the tip of my nose, which, apparently, is the most sensitive point on the human body (I'd dispute that, LOL). He did stick a needle in there and OW! it hurt! I didn't feel a thing after that, except a bit of tugging, until I felt hurt when my Beloved One burst out laughing when I emerged 20 minutes later with a plaster on the tip of my nose. How unkind!

    (For human readers - I had a mysterious lump. It was removed and was just that, a mysterious lump, but nothing to worry about, apart from me looking stupid with a stitch and a plaster on the end of my konk afterwards.)

  16. Yelp Jacula! Your poor nose. My human would sympathise as she claims hers is sensitive and she doesn't like anyone touching it since it was broken (she says it was a dog that broke it can you believe?!)

    I hope your runny eye clears up and you don't have to suffer a missed breakfast.

  17. Well done Indy on being so brave! And Teresa -the warmth and humour of this post disguises how horribly worried I know you must have been. Glad it all turned out O.K.x