My hero hound

Gary Gre­gory, 33, from Low­est­oft, was on death’s door, but his rot­tweiler Me­gan was on hand to save the day…

Pick Me Up! Special - - News -

Crawl­ing un­der the cov­ers, I tried to get com­fort­able. But de­spite hav­ing a queen-sized bed, there was very lit­tle room left. ‘Budge up,’ I groaned. My part­ner Sean, 50, was snor­ing away, and our three dogs, Me­gan, a rot­tweiler, Heidi, a Labrador, and Hugo, a pug, had all made them­selves comfy.

The dogs were like our chil­dren – they went ev­ery­where with us – and de­spite be­ing rather rowdy at times, they in­stinc­tively knew to be gen­tle with me.

You see, a few months ear­lier, I’d been struck down with stom­ach and back pain ev­ery time I ate.

Af­ter los­ing over 3st and be­ing in and out of hospi­tal, I was di­ag­nosed with chronic cal­cific pan­cre­ati­tis.

But the dogs re­ally kept my spir­its up, es­pe­cially Me­gan, who would know not to jump up for cud­dles when I was feel­ing too weak.

In­stead, she’d just lick my hand to show me her love. But my health de­te­ri­o­rated. I was los­ing more and more weight, and in Fe­bru­ary last year, I had de­vel­oped jaun­dice, and tests showed that stones were block­ing my pan­cre­atic duct. I was dis­charged the next day, and af­ter Sean left for work, I dozed off

on the sofa

with the dogs.

At 11am, I went to the loo, sud­denly feel­ing un­well.

The next thing I knew, I was vom­it­ing up what looked like cof­fee gran­ules – it was con­gealed blood.

Know­ing some­thing was se­ri­ously wrong, I stum­bled for my phone to dial 999.

But I sud­denly felt so dizzy.

I tried to reach for some­thing to hold on to, but I slipped and cracked my head on the cof­fee ta­ble.

Then ev­ery­thing went black.

Wak­ing up, Me­gan was lick­ing my face, while Heidi and Hugo were stood close.

‘What the…?’ I slurred, as I lifted my hand to my head. I felt blood gush­ing out. I was deliri­ous, and thought this was the end… I slowly made my way up to the bed­room and, reach­ing for my phone, I called Sean. ‘I’m dy­ing,’ I croaked. ‘I love you.’ I must have passed out again, be­cause the next thing I knew, paramedics were bang­ing on the front door.

Sean must’ve called an am­bu­lance, I thought, re­lieved. But then I re­alised…

The door was locked, and I didn’t have the strength to go down and let them in…

Fran­tic, Me­gan ran down­stairs, bark­ing and jump­ing to­wards the door.

She knew how to open it – she’d done it be­fore when I’d lost my keys – but the han­dle had to be pulled from the out­side first. ‘Help!’ I shouted. But all I could muster up was a faint whis­per.

It was hope­less. Con­vinced I was go­ing to die, ev­ery­thing sud­denly went black again.

The next thing I knew, I was wak­ing up in a hospi­tal bed, with Sean stand­ing by my side.

‘Me­gan saved your life,’ he wept.

He ex­plained that the paramedics had gone to my neigh­bour,

who told them that Me­gan would open the door if they pulled the han­dle down.

She’d let them in and they’d raced me to the hospi­tal.

I’d suf­fered a ma­jor in­ter­nal bleed.

‘If the paramedics had had to wait for the po­lice to break the door down, you would prob­a­bly have died,’ Sean said through tears. I couldn’t be­lieve it. Me­gan had saved me! ‘Cook her a big steak tonight,’ I smiled to Sean. I was in the hospi­tal for three days, and Sean said that Me­gan had been in­con­solable. She’d seen me gravely ill, and then be­ing taken away. The poor thing must’ve thought I’d died and was never go­ing to come back. But com­ing home, de­spite her ob­vi­ous urge to jump up to cud­dle me, she sim­ply sniffed at me as I gen­tly pat­ted her head. In Oc­to­ber last year, I had to have surgery at the Royal Free Hospi­tal in Lon­don to re­move the stones from my pan­cre­atic duct and reroute my bowel. While I was there, Me­gan

was pre­sented with a Judges’ Spe­cial Award at a lo­cal awards cer­e­mony – the Stars of Low­est­oft and Waveney. ‘That’s my girl,’ I said proudly, as Sean showed me a video of her tak­ing to the stage to col­lect her dog­gie ham­per. Since my near-death episode, Me­gan’s been my guardian. She fol­lows me ev­ery­where, even to the loo. At night, she lies in bed next to me, alert for any dan­ger. Now, I’m grow­ing stronger ev­ery day. I’ve got a huge scar down my stom­ach, but it’s a small price to pay for be­ing alive and well. I was at death’s door, but Me­gan saved me. I owe my life to her.

I was throw­ing up blood

Me­gan opened the door

With­out her I would have died

I needed ma­jor surgery

Truly man’s best friend

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from UK

© PressReader. All rights reserved.