PETS PAYING PRICE FOR LITTER LOUTS
Choking on face masks, paws slashed by beer cans. It’s not just unsightly, discarded rubbish is leaving dogs in agony — and costing owners a fortune
AS EVERY dog owner knows, watching your faithful pal bounding in the fresh air is one of life’s great and simple pleasures. For me though — and I’m not alone in this — it has become tainted by the fear they might hurt themselves on a piece of metal or broken glass left behind by some selfish litter-lout. This week, the RSPCA backed the Great British Spring Clean following thousands of reports of wild animals trapped in litter. But as I know only too well, our pets are also at risk from this scourge of the countryside and the charity Paws on Plastic, which encourages dog owners to work together to make dog walking safe again, has been inundated with stories of dogs who’ve come to harm due to the selfish behaviour of others.
Even discarded food can be a menace, as we discovered when our three-year-old Spinone Angela developed swelling in her neck after a walk last year. The vet said the culprit was most likely a cooked chicken bone — something I’d never let her eat as I know how dangerous they are for dogs, because they splinter.
I suspect she found the remains of a takeaway on a walk and ate it when my back was turned. She needed antibiotics and seemed uncomfortable for a week.
THESE days, with everyone seeming to care about the environment, you’d hope there’d be less litter. Instead, there seems to be more if the trail of packets, bottles and wrappers I find are anything to go by. Too many people fail to grasp that caring about the planet starts with them. Dog walks should be pleasurable, not dangerous.
Our first dog, Nancy, another beautiful Italian Spinone, had an injury as she played on a riverbank near our London home. It was low tide and the ring-pull from a can, which had been chucked instead of binned, had wedged itself in the riverbed at the right angle to slice through Nancy’s front paw.
I only realised when I saw a trail of blood behind her. Two months of vet trips followed — she needed antibiotics; the dressing had to be regularly changed and her paw rebandaged; somehow that wound had to be kept dry, no small undertaking with our weather.
All that because some selfish person couldn’t be bothered to pick up after themselves.
There was a time when I’d spot someone dropping litter and chase after them with it. I’d be polite when I caught up with them, saying: ‘Oh dear, you dropped this’ as I handed it over. They’d thank me, making out they hadn’t realised they’d done it. But they knew, and I knew, what had gone on.
That stopped when my kids hit their teens and they worried someone could turn nasty. And so now I fume quietly as I pick up after those who ought to know better.