Waffle’s injury hurts me in the wallet

It’s not much fun shooting or beating without a dog. I’d almost go as far as to say, there’s not much point either. Waffle has been off games for a week now and I’d almost prefer not to go out at all if I have to leave her at home or in the pick-up. Inevitably it was barbed wire, the absolute curse of the countryside. We were out beating and on the drive before lunch someone spotted blood under her front right oxter. Waffle, I have to say, was not remotely bothered even when we hoisted her up for inspection to discover a three inch flap of skin peeled back where she had presumably gone through yet another piece of trampled down fence wire at high speed.

The problem with these sort of injuries is trying to gauge just how bad they really are, especially as Waffle was in no obvious distress. My first instinct was to take her home, clean it up and stick it all together with steri-strips after shaving the area around the right-angled tear.

Unfortunately our resident expert on dog wounds, who happens to be an ambulance driver cum paramedic, was off saving lives somewhere and no one else was being much use. What you are hoping for in these situations is someone who can say with authority that their mother’s cousin’s brotherin-law, a retired keeper, always swore a shredded Wills Woodbine cigarette rubbed in the wound never failed to heal the most hideous gash and he had never lost a dog in 60 years in the hill. You know the sort of thing.

No such useful folklore being available, a small voice of reason whispered that if you aren’t sure, better be safe and head for the vet, even if it sticks in the wallet. Waffle pranced through the surgery doors, then realising where she was froze in terror, turned and ran through the legs of an incoming Alsatian to hide out of reach under the pick-up in the car park.

I am afraid I had to resort to the dog equivalent of: “If you don’t do what you’re told you’ll just have to walk home”. That is, just open the car door. In she hopped, terrified I was about to drive off without her. Caught. You’d think by know she’d have learnt her master’s treacherous ways.

I still haven’t got the bill but we are talking about a jab, stitches and a course of antibiotics, plus snipping the stitches out in 10 days. So think a couple of noughts which I wouldn’t think of spending on a child. At least she can’t get at the stitches to pull them out so has been spared the discomfort and indignity of a lampshade on her head. n