Nutty had been OK all day but in the evening he lay
down and tremors were going through his little body. I didn’t know what was
happening and did some Reiki. Boyfriend on a Short Fuse and I got ready for bed
and Nutty was still lying on the carpet.
This not unusual, but what was unusual were the tremors
and the lack of response from him. I was in my bath reading the papers (oh
blessed relief and escape) when Boyfriend on a Short Fuse calls me. Normally
his tone is quite shouty but this time it was subdued and anxious.
`Darling! Come down now!’
So I scramble out of my bath, suds and papers all
over the floor and dash downstairs. Nutty is lying comatose on the floor shuddering
slightly, Boyfriend on a Short Fuse is hovering over him, frantic with worry. For the first time in
seven years since we first met, he is crying. He is famously Teflon-coated
and I am used to him shouting, but crying, never. My heart shifts in my chest
and I can hardly breathe with emotion.
`I think he is dying’, Boyfriend on a Short Fuse whispers as I stroke
Nutty's scrawny tawny fur and watch anxiously for the rise and fall in his abdomen.
Then Boyfriend on a Short Fuse runs to the kitchen for a bottle of water and spoons teaspoonfuls
into Nutty’s mouth. Within minutes Nutty
is revived, his eyes open and he moves around. It is like Lazarus rising from
the dead! He was dehydrated all this time.
What we didn’t realise is that his mouth tumour, officially known as a squamous cell carcinoma, has
impeded his ability to drink. Normally his little tongue laps out constantly
into his water bowl, but what we’ve realised is that he is not actually
drinking very much at all.
And while only a few hours ago his tongue was trying
to lap the water, now his tongue cannot leave his mouth to drink. I don’t know
what has happened. So we spoon teaspoonfuls of water into his mouth and carry
him upstairs. We get into bed and talk and talk and I cry a bit. Boyfriend on a Short Fuse has
re-teflon-coated himself and is dry eyed again. I was very moved by his tears,
sometimes I forget he has a heart but I do know he loves Nutty very much. Not
as much as me, but he does love him so much.
While Nutty was comatose I prayed to my mother, to
St Francis of Assisi, to Archangel Ariel the patron saint of animals, to make
him better, to keep him happy and healthy with us for a little longer.
`Please let me be able to take one picture of him in
his dog pram’, I begged. He looks so adorable in his pram, people always smile
and chat to him as we wheel him past. If you don’t have a picture you can’t
share the image with anyone and it would be lost forever.
And they answered my prayer!
Boyfriend on a Short Fuse and I were both absolutely shaken and devastated at this latest
brush with death. Nutty has defied death many times, how many shelties live
past 15? And yet, and yet… I believed he was immortal, that he would live to be
the oldest Sheltie in the world.
I love Nutty more than heaven and earth and he
depends on me for sustenance and love. So much is tied up in him, memories of
my Mother, grandparents, Longdown where we all grew up (not that I loved
Longdown at all as it had many unhappy memories, but still, there is emotion
and history there).
15 years of my life, a huge chunk, encompassing my
mad it-girldom period, dizzy dazzling boyfriends, many flats, Nutty always a
constant although I did not know him as I know and love him now of course as he
was living in Guildford with my mother.
I used to spend the hours googling world’s oldest
Shelties, and delighted in a Youtube video of a 20-year-old sheltie wearing a
birthday hat and looking bright and healthy. Yes! That could be Nutty! With his
organic, home-cooked diet of fresh poached chicken with pureed vegetables and
spelt, interspersed with the odd morsel of lightly cooked venison mince I
thought he would be indestructible.
And yet, death waits for no man or dog. I can’t hold
off the inevitable, however much time or money and love I lavish. Nature will
have her way.
Many times I have wished his cancer on myself. Let
me have his cruel and gloating tumour sprouting in my own mouth like an evil discoloured cauliflower! All human ingenuity
would be exercised in its removal…. But Nutty is just an innocent bystander. I
do my best but we caught it too late…. Something I will always regret.
And so, eventually I crawled down into my own bed,
reluctantly leaving my baby in BOASF’s room to sleep fitfully downstairs. At
4.30am I woke up and crept upstairs to check he was still breathing. Yes! He
was! A miracle. One more day with my love. By now I had woken the Tinies who
were jumping up and down (but not Teflon Boyfriend who is indestructibly asleep), they
bounced downstairs with me and we all slept together fitfully till 8.30am.
Back upstairs, Beloved still breathing!
I hand fed him some poached chicken, Boyfriend on a Short Fuse and I
took them out for a walk then took Nutty down to the Blue Cross. BOASF met a
lady in the park who insisted the Blue Cross offered the best vetinary care,
`but don’t you need to be on benefits? I asked. Apparently not.
So BOASF whisks
Beloved down to Victoria, peaking out of his little pram. I leave later and
catch them up. BOASF is inscensed that I have joined them. `IT’S ALL ABOUT YOU
ISN’T IT’ he rages in the busy street.
There is no point
arguing with him when he is like this. Of course I want to be with my Beloved
when he has his consultation but it is not to be. The receptionist insists that
BOASF must have some proof of being on a limited income, which he does not have, despite being of limited means. I drop off my donations (a nice dress and several books) and we go home. BOASF still raging about this and that. The waiting room is choc a bloc, heaving with ailing people and their beleaguered pets, waiting, waiting…. 2 hours apparently. I am relieved we must leave and go home.
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