When it’s time for their bed at the animal hospice
Alexis Fleming, 37, is helping sick and vulnerable animals by providing them with the end-of-life care they deserve to have…
Ican still remember the exact moment I first laid eyes on her. Maggie was a Bullmastiff, and was being advertised on Gumtree as she’d been badly treated and needed rescuing.
It was 19 December 2008, and as it was nearing Christmas, I wanted to do something meaningful and worthwhile. So, I collected Maggie with a view to rehoming her. Only then, I fell in love. She was the most welcoming, gentle dog.
I couldn’t give her up, so she became my own companion, my own family.
A stranger even stopped us in the street once. ‘ You can just tell she’s a lovely dog,’ she said, as Maggie wagged her tail happily. And she was.
I’d always loved animals and had grown up around them.
My mum, Flora, now 70, and my dad, Archie, 69, had been involved in animal protection for as long as I could remember, and had rescued cats for 26 years.
Before I was born, Mum had rescued a dog named Trouvee who hated children, because she’d been badly abused.
Yet when I arrived, the staffie-cross loved me. She was like my shadow and stood protectively by my pram. We were best mates. So it was no surprise that, as I grew up, I wanted to help animals, too.
I volunteered at shelters and rescue centres when I could, then in February 2013, I set up a charity called Pounds for Poundies, which rescued dogs that’d been confined to pounds where, after seven days, they were put to sleep.
Throughout the process, Maggie was my constant companion and support while I helped other animals.
And when I suffered terrible bouts of ill health with my Crohn’s disease – a painful, inflammatory bowel condition – Maggie would curl up in bed next to me.
But in August 2015, Maggie seemed off colour – she wasn’t her usual self. Weeks of tests followed at our local veterinary practice and poor Maggie was later diagnosed with a tumour on her lung.
‘The cancer has already spread to her oesophagus,’ the vet told me gently.
I was heartbroken. My brave pup had a feeding tube fitted but, shortly afterwards, it became dislodged and she had to go back for more surgery. I wasn’t allowed to see her while she was prepped for theatre and hours later, I got a call to say something had gone terribly wrong.
‘She’s not going to pull through,’ the vet explained. ‘It would be best to let her go now.’ I had to make the awful decision for her to be put to sleep so she wasn’t in pain.
Losing a loved one – human or animal – is very difficult. I spent the whole night crying.
The next morning, I went with my mum to the vet to see Maggie’s body for the last time. Afterwards, I turned to Mum and said, ‘The Maggie Fleming Animal Hospice.’
She nodded, knowing exactly what I meant.
I’d talked before about how important I thought end-oflife care was for animals, and one of the hardest things about losing my Maggie was that I hadn’t been there to comfort her in her last moments.
I hadn’t been able to do it
for Maggie, but I could do it for others – in her name.
Weeks before Maggie’s death, through my contacts in the animal protection world, I’d heard about Osha, another Bullmastiff, who had been dumped by a nearby pond.
She was found to have terminal, inoperable cancer.
I’d picked her up, had her checked over by a vet and brought her home. She’d been given six months to live and I quickly learned that she loved eating, sleeping and basking in the sunshine.
Meanwhile, I spent time researching the hospice and deciding whether I was emotionally prepared for helping animals at the end of their lives, especially as I knew Osha didn’t have long.
It would be hard – even devastating at times – but someone had to be there for these animals in their time of need.
So, on 30 March 2016, I launched the Maggie Fleming Animal Hospice. But six months later, Osha started coughing up blood.
‘She’s not in pain, but she will be soon,’ the vet said, suggesting she only had a couple of weeks left pain-free.
It was a difficult decision, but we wanted her to die with dignity.
So, on 7 June 2016, my partner, Adam, now 34, and I let her come into our bed and have some toast. We took her for a long walk before treating her to pasta and her favourite fruit chews.
Then she laid out on the lawn, for one last sprawl in the sun. Late that afternoon, the vet came and gently put her to sleep. It was heartbreaking, but we knew we’d done the best for her that we could.
Since then, the hospice has helped 40 other animals. I get calls from other rescuers and pounds about animals in need. We always check they are well enough to travel – if they only have a couple of days left, we don’t want to add to their distress. We’ve had some animals with us for a few weeks and some have been with us for over two years.
I become very attached to them, and it’s hard to say goodbye, but I’d never do anything to cause them more suffering. Animals are good at making it clear when they’ve no fight left. ‘I’m listening,’ I tell them when the time comes. ‘It’s OK to go.’
When the animals have passed away, we have them cremated and then bury their ashes in our memorial garden, along with a little bush to mark their passing.
I also run The Karass Sanctuary for Farmed Animals – a safe haven for those who would otherwise have gone to slaughter.
I quickly learned how intelligent sheep, hens and pigs are. We currently care for 90 animals and recently built a new space for the hospice and sanctuary in Dumfries, Scotland. It’s my full-time voluntary job and I love it.
We don’t have any funding for the hospice, so we run events to help raise money and spread the word about what we do.
I look after Old Man Bran, too, a Labrador-staffie cross, who was abandoned. He was given six months to live two years ago, and he was desperately lonely. Now, he loves fluffy blankets and adores sleeping in the boot of my car with the door open.
It can sometimes be a painful job, but while animals need my help, I’ll never stop giving it to them.