Mindy Hammond

Every week in S Magazine Trying to work out which pets are poorly has our columnist barking up the wrong tree

Acalm life may be a happy one, but only until things are turned inside out. As dog owners will know, our canine friends occasionally eat things they shouldn’t, often with disastrous results. Fortunately, the “illness” is usually short-lived and normal service quickly resumed.

But when I woke to a nasty niff and a “present” on the kitchen floor, the first problem was identifying who of our four dogs was poorly and to assume it was the one looking most shamefaced would’ve been barking up the wrong tree. Dogs react to our emotions, so if you appear cross they’ll look guilty because they think they should. I’ve made it a rule never to be cross if somebody has an accident. I try to be matter-of-fact and work out whether any of them seems under the weather. Sparrow was in season, so I guessed she had overeaten grass to settle a sore tum. It seemed a reasonable diagnosis.

But the following morning brought more of the same and on our walk it was obvious that Blea was suffering. I rushed her to the vet where she was examined and given various medications to settle her stomach, when a discovery was made. She has a heart murmur. Rather a nasty surprise and something we’ll need to watch.

All went well for the rest of the day, but the next morning the kitchen floor looked like a scene from a horror movie. Izzy sat with Blea on her lap as we sped to the vet. The poor pup was admitted for scans and X-rays then put into isolation on IV fluids and medication.

The emergency meant I had to postpone Star and Max’s 8.30am check-up with the equine vet for a week, but they were very understanding. I spent the next 24 hours receiving updates from our vets. They regularly scanned Blea’s heart and assured me she was receiving cuddles from everyone. When she managed to eat some chicken without any side-effects, they knew she was turning a corner and I was told they’d repeat the scans the next day before discharging her.

We had a skip in our steps as we walked to the stables next morning – until Willow led Star out and I noticed his hind legs were moving like he was the one who’d been in the saddle for a couple of days. “Wills, any idea why Star is walking like John Wayne?”

She walked him in a circle and agreed he looked peculiar. I called the equine vet, explained what was going on and they assured me they‘d call back with a time for a visit. Then Star began pawing at the ground as though preparing to roll.

Willow was alarmed. “Oh no. He isn’t starting to colic is he?”

“I hope not. Keep him moving. I’ll call the vet back.”

While Willow kept Star walking I made the call. They’d send someone immediately.

Willow ran her hand down the inside of Star’s hind leg. He turned his head, looking at his underbelly while cocking his hind leg like a dog. He didn’t kick. He just slowly raised it. “Well, I’ve never seen a horse do that before,” I told her. “Try doing the same thing on the other leg.” She did, with the same result. Was he a secret gymnast, practicing the splits, one leg at a time?

By the time the vet arrived he’d stopped pawing and seemed calm as she worked, diagnosing the trouble. Star was trying to tell us he was uncomfortable in a very private place. She told us, “Most horses will lash out with their hind legs when they’re in his situation – he’s such a sweet boy.” She sorted out his problem under sedation and gave him an injection of bute.

But 24 hours later my mildmannered, so-laid-back-he’s-almosthorizontal horse was wired. He was trembling with adrenaline, jumped at the slightest noise and looked ready to run the Grand National. We think, because he’s so calm normally, either sedation has a bizarre side-effect or bute makes him feel like a pre-race thoroughbred.

A few days later calm was restored; Blea was better, Star snoozy, and their funny walk contest was finally over. Namaste…