Episode 112 : Death and the dog

It was a little past midnight. I was about to go to sleep when my mobile phone rang.

It was my landlady. She could have just knocked on the door, why call?

'Hyde, I think Lister has reached his last stage. Can you come here and take a look?'

Lister, her pet dog of 12 years. He was suffering from some thing that old age brings.

I went inside their house and looked at the hall. To see Lister lying still, breathing slowly. Then all of a sudden, he stiffened, his paws stretching out. This continued for some time but the convulsions only got stronger.

I didn't think he would last very long.

'He will not last the night, will he?' she asked. I shook my head.

After some time, I excused myself and returned to my room. And called home immediately.

'How is Phoebus? Is she still shedding hair? Are her ears giving her trouble? Are the fleas and ticks under control?'

Mama Hyde couldn't figure out why I, all of a sudden, called home to ask so many questions about Phoebus.

I told her why.

'Reminded you of Timothy, didn't it?' she asked.

Timothy. The Dobermann dog we had before Phoebus. He was a healthy dog, and attracted a lot of attention. A month before his eighth birthday, Tim suddenly took a turn for the worse. And we, smug in our knowledge of homeopathy, thought we could cure him. His response to the medication was erratic.

He stopped eating, and soon stopped drinking. But cleared his bowels and bladder with alarming regularity. We had to put him on drips. The vet suggested we take him to the hospital at Vepery.

At home, I carried when he had to climb stairs. At the hospital, I put him on his feet and he just stood there.

People around me suggested I carry him as he didn't appear strong enough to move.

'He can walk!' I said defiantly. And whispered into Tim's ears, 'We only have a few steps to climbs, I know you can do it. Come on, Tim'.

And he moved. Gingerly and a little unsteadily, he climbed 4 steps, and walked into the waiting room. Other dogs turned to look at him as he lay down and waited his turn.

The vet took a look and gave him a couple of injections. We checked his weight. At 14kgs, he had already lost half his weight. The vet instructed me to bring him the next day. I allowed myself a wee bit of optimism.

The next day, Tim didn't seem to get any better. I described the colour and smell of his bowel movement to the vet at the hospital. X-rays were taken, injections were given, but the vet refused to admit him.

'You say he craps a lot. How can we take care of him here? Bring him here when he gets better.'

Excuse me? Bring him when he gets better? What are veterinarians for?

I took Tim back home. He seemed peppier than usual, and even nipped at my fingers lightly when I played my boxing game with him. Maybe he is getting better, I thought.

But then, candles burn brightest when they near their end. Fifteen minutes later, we reached home. And Tim collapsed in front of the steps.

His breathing was heavy. We called for the vet. As I turned to get some old newspapers to place under Tim, he stopped breathing.

Mama Hyde and I could only stare. Mama Hyde was the first to break. 'He looked up at me, licked my hand lightly and fell back.' She was inconsolable.

We buried Tim before Papa Hyde or Edwina could get home. We did not want them to see him.

Tim died over four years ago, a week before his eighth birthday. In the last 18 years, no dog lived to complete seven years.

Phoebus is a little over four years old. But time flies.

Like some one told me the other day, 'Pets die. That's the saddest thing about them.'