Saturday 3 November 2012

PuppyDog Tails.

Well, technically the dog in question at eight years old is not a puppy, but as this post concerns the tail part of the dog it seems an appropriate title. Note to any Canine friends reading this: If you must stop suddenly whilst leaving the house and cause your tail to be caught in the door thus skinting your owner in the process, please try to avoid doing so on the day before they go on holiday and try not to arrange it so you have to be at the vets at the same time you are due to be at the kennels for your own holiday.
It's the day before the Schnnar Family Holiday and we are all getting excited about going to Majorca. It's mid morning and things are going well. The packing is almost done, so I stop to do some clearing up. Just started washing up when I hear "Mum, I think Rio's bleeding." A look at the front lounge floor confirms that yes, one of our two dogs is definately bleeding. My daughter and I check over a dog each. Paws, mouths, no sign of any blood at all. Can't see where it is coming from. Then I notice Rio's long black tail. It looks like a paintbrush that's been dipped in the deepest ever red paint. Then I recall hearing a yelp as the dogs left for their walk earlier on. Thankfully he is now oblivious to his injury and is lying chilled out on the floor. My daughter strokes him and keeps him still while I fetch kitchen paper and a bowl of water & some TCP. I know that tail injuries can be serious and want to ensure it is free from infection as well as trying to stop the bleeding. We bathe it carefully in the TCP solution then wrap it in kitchen paper and raise it to stop the flow of the blood. We are also trying to keep Rio still to avoid him splattering more blood around the room as he's already got it on the sofa and floor. This is not too hard as he's a greyhound and is a real couch potato. But, if there's one thing that will get him on his feet with his tail like a crazy out of control fan, thus splattering blood everywhere it is the doorbell or the sound of a key in the lock. So we keep a lookout for Howard, who is due home any moment and plan to open the door quietly to avoid potential chaos. Despite our attempts Rio is up with his tail wagging frantically as soon as he realises his friend is home. By now the lounge and hall look like a crime scene with blood splattered over the walls, doors, windows, floors and pictures. Rio has no idea of the mess he has made and we eventually get him to lie still while Howard examines the tail and tries to re-wrap it in kitchen roll. We then fetch the first aid kit and manage at last to get a bandage round the tail. We've decided he needs to see the vet who agrees to see him an hour later. As it's Sunday and the next day is a Bank Holiday Monday it's an emergency vet, several miles away instead of the usual one round the corner. The bandage has amazingly stayed in place while all three of us start cleaning blood off everything. We disagree over what to clean it off with. My Mum's cure all for as far as cleaning issues were concerned, was (back in the 1970's)"Hot Soapy Water - that's they only way you'll get that off" The "Hot Soapy Water" of my childhood must have sank in (so to speak) on all sorts of levels because throughout the years whenever any mess or spillages have occurred I have always reached for a bowl of  Hot Soapy Water. So I reach once again for Hot Soapy Water. I am oblivious to any development in cleaning products which may have occurred over the last forty or so years and dismiss the need for the cleaning wipes and all sorts of chemicals which make my eyes itch and make me sneeze, which Howard thinks we should be using. The washing up liquid has it. Shame it won't work on other things: PPI harassment people? Dodgy polititians? People who try to sell you electricity in Sainsburys when it's so obvious you want to by food? Just slosh 'em over with Hot Soapy Water and you'll never see then again. Perhaps I could try a similar thing with my own child: "Learn Your Times Tables - that's what you need to do" and she would start to times numbers in the event of any mathematical dilema and save having to do all the dodgy counting on her fingers I often go through. Eventually, after using a variety of cleaning methods the room looks less crime scene and more like it's just time the carpets needed a really good clean. The Hot Soapy Water is now cold and grey with dog hairs floating on it and it's time for Rio's trip to the Vet's. The dog has stayed still and bandage is still in place until Rio hears his lead jangling. Then he's up like a shot and once more the room is back in crime scene mode as the bangdage falls of at the first wag. "Oh no, the mess..." says Howard, looking round in despair. "Just get the bleedin' dog to the vet's" I yell, as it is becoming a matter of time. We need to get him processed by the vet and on to the kennels before it shuts as we check in at the airport at 5.30 the next morning. Whilst getting Rio into the car, Fly, our other dog decides it's time to make a bid for freedom and has me chasing him up and down the road. Eventually I get him back in the house and renew the Hot Soapy Water and even use the cleaning wipes a little and get the place clean again. While this is happening Fly decides to eat a tub of margerine which was on the surface in the kitchen.
Thankfully all goes well at the vet's and Rio comes round in time to be taken to the kennels, with a very solid looking, should stay on as long as needed kind of bandage on. he's pleased to see us and unfazed by anything that's happened. The kennel staff are calm, sympathetic and unfazed by the additional instructions, bandage and antibiotics. I know he's in good hands but still feel guilty at leaving him there. After paying the bill for his tail to be sorted, then another op a few weeks later as it didn't heel very well, we conclude the dog wasn't the only one stitched up by the vet.
Rio has since made a great recovery and is quite happy with his somewhat shorter tail.

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