crack­ers! AN­I­MAL Snout of it…

Bev gasped as her res­cue pup, Mon­key, couldn’t move. She’d been on the pill – all 110 of them!

Real People - - 28 - Bev Wil­son, 51, Chel­tenham

Watch­ing our cheeky puppy cud­dle her squeaky mon­key, there was only one suitable name for her.

‘She’s a Mon­key,’ I laughed with my hus­band, Carl, 53, and daugh­ter, Tyla, 14.

It was early July 2018, and we’d adopted four-month-old Mon­key through Ca­nine SAS, an or­gan­i­sa­tion which brings aban­doned dogs to the UK from Spain.

She ar­rived by dog­gie trans­port straight to our door.

Ex­cited, we wel­comed her with new toys. She car­ried her brown cor­duroy mon­key ev­ery­where, like a com­fort blan­ket.

And she brought fun back to our lives. A year ear­lier, I’d been di­ag­nosed with breast cancer, go­ing through rounds of de­bil­i­tat­ing surgery and ra­dio­ther­apy.

But, when I got up on the morn­ing of 26 July, Mon­key wasn’t in the kitchen.

‘Mon­key!’ I cried, about to scold her for leap­ing the wooden gate that stops her go­ing into the front room.

But, when I spot­ted her, un­der­neath the din­ing ta­ble, my heart shud­dered. She was splayed on the floor, legs at

wonky an­gles. Step­ping over the gate, I slipped.

The floor was a mess of urine and fae­ces.

Some­thing was ter­ri­bly wrong. Her eyes were huge and glassy. She wasn’t mov­ing! ‘Carl, get down here!’ I shouted. He raced down­stairs.

‘Has she eaten some­thing bad?’ he won­dered in shock.

Then I spot­ted chunks of thick white plas­tic on the floor.

The re­mains of a bot­tle of home­o­pathic tablets I’d used to help me sleep, that I’d left on the ta­ble – it had a child­proof lid but, as proven, not puppy-proof.

Ter­ri­fied, we drove the four miles to our lo­cal vet­eri­nary surgery. Mon­key’s heart raced and she was pant­ing.

The vet was aghast. Mon­key’s mo­tor sys­tem had bro­ken down, she said, im­me­di­ately call­ing the Vet­eri­nary Poi­sons In­for­ma­tion Ser­vice for ad­vice.

As she’d emp­tied her bow­els, the pills were al­ready in her sys­tem. Too late to make her vomit.

Her tem­per­a­ture was way too high – over 42˚C!

‘We need to get a cool­ing drip in,’ the vet said.

But Mon­key was shak­ing and her eyes were rolling.

So, Carl crawled into the cage and held her as the vet team wrapped her in wet blan­kets.

Fi­nally, the vet got the can­nula into her left leg and hooked her to a drip of cold hy­drat­ing fluid. She gave her an­tibi­otics, too.

‘We’ll try every­thing,’ she promised. ‘But pre­pare your­selves – even if she pulls through, she could suf­fer brain dam­age.’

Putting the squeaky mon­key in her cage, we re­turned home.

I counted the scat­tered pills and worked out that Mon­key had eaten 110!

‘Why?’ I cried. They didn’t smell or taste good…

Guilt stung. We’d adopted poor lit­tle Mon­key to give her a good life – now this…

At 3pm, the vet called to say Mon­key’s heart rate had slowed.

Good news, but she re­quired 24/7 mon­i­tor­ing in case she fit­ted, so we drove her to Wil­lows, a vet hospi­tal in Birm­ing­ham, for overnight care.

She rested her head on Carl’s lap in the back seat, while Tyla talked softly to her.

She was a lit­tle brighter, even man­ag­ing a tail wag.

I just hoped we didn’t have to ad­min­is­ter, through her can­nula, the drugs the vet had given us in case she had a fit on the jour­ney.

At Wil­lows, the vet placed her on all four legs on the floor. She wob­bled, but…

‘She’s start­ing to func­tion again,’ the vet said. ‘If she makes it through the night, she’ll be OK.’

Still, un­til the phone rang at 9.30am next morn­ing,

I was wor­ried sick.

‘Mon­key’s hang­ing in there,’ the vet said. By lunchtime, she was walk­ing. And come the af­ter­noon, the vet asked, ‘Can you come to col­lect her?’ I burst into tears. Back home, she zonked out for three days – then we were off on hol­i­day at a cot­tage in North Wales.

By the end of the week, Mon­key was run­ning on the beach and climb­ing moun­tains!

‘You’re a mir­a­cle,’ I told her, and ex­perts at the PDSA agreed, crown­ing her a quar­ter-fi­nal­ist in Pet Sur­vivor 2018.

Six months on, Mon­key is a healthy dog and has more than dou­bled in size to 19kg.

We had her DNA tested and dis­cov­ered she’s 50 per cent Samoyed – a white Siberian herd­ing dog.

Clever and ath­letic, she loves agility and obe­di­ence train­ing and play­ing with her pals.

As for her squeaky mon­key – she now has five!

I’m one-year cancer-free and feel fit and well, too.

I don’t buy that type of home­o­pathic pill any more, though – hav­ing a bot­tle at home would un­nerve me.

The thought of any more mishaps is too hard to swal­low.

● If you’re wor­ried your pet could have eaten some­thing toxic, the Vet­eri­nary Poi­sons In­for­ma­tion Ser­vice has a 24-hour ad­vice line on 01202 509000, charged at £30 for ev­ery phone con­sul­ta­tion with a vet.

Her eyes were rolling

Me with Mon­key, who has lived up to her name!

Luck­ily, she’s back to full health now

Mon­key en­joys her walks with Tyla

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