Two weeks ago, on an unseasonably warm afternoon, Jon and I took the dogs down to the river in Marlborough for a swim (and a bit of duck acclimatisation...). Tickle only learned to swim in the summer and wouldn't win a style competition, but she's fearless. After a few minutes, she spotted some cattle on the opposite bank and swam over, leapt out of the water on to a wooden slatted pier and raced towards them, barking, totally ignoring my shout to come back. I saw her slide on the slippy wood and then she screamed - her left foreleg had slipped in between the slats. Clearly hurt, she hopped back to the bank, crying. "Well perhaps that will teach her not to chase cows" I said to Jon, not very charitably. I didn't think she was badly hurt.
Now Tickle is a gutsy girl usually (see
here). She wouldn't dream of showing any vulnerability in front of strangers. But with us she's pretty vocal if she bumps or bruises herself. On a late summer evening walk a few months ago, she came hopping back to us holding up a front leg and then cried all the way home. Once home, she sat on Jon's knee and continued to cry. I was so convinced she had broken it I dragged my vet, Juliet, out of a dinner party. But it was just a sprain and within 24 hours Tickle was back to her usual self, terrorising Boz at breakneck speed round the garden.
So down at the river I thought she was putting it on a bit. Tickle is so nimble-footed I couldn't believe she had really hurt herself. But she stood forlornly on the bank opposite us, still crying. The river was too deep for us to cross, so Jon set off towards the bridge, 100 yards down river. Tickle, though, so needed to get back to us that she suddenly launched herself back into the river and swam awkwardly over to us. Jon helped her out and picked her up. She was sodden and shaking and still crying. We sped to the car and took her straight to the vet. An x-ray revealed the horrible truth - Tickle had an ugly chip fracture of the larger bone that runs from her shoulder to knee. It was three-quarters through the bone and unstable. Juliet splinted the leg and sent us home with a stern lecture about keeping her really quiet. She also gave us a bottle of ACP, a sedative which would help counter Tickle's natural tendency for mayhem.
As I write this, Tickle is on the sofa beside me, upside down and dreaming. She's doing really well - alternating between demanding cuddles from Jon (left) and hopping round the house and garden. The vet would have a heart-attack if she could see her go up and down the stairs and jump on and off the sofa. But Ticks is a smart girl. She hops around holding her bad leg up and is really careful. There have been a couple of yelps when she's caught the leg on something, or one of the others has knocked her, but she seems more comfortable as every day passes.
Thank goodness for the ACP, though. I hate having to drug her, but the alternative is worse. The other morning, before I had given her the morning dose, she was out in the garden and she came flying towards me terrifyingly fast. We have been warned by the vet that if a knock causes the fragile bone to break through, it will mean an operation and weeks of crate rest so I've been much more careful since then.
We miss our sparky girl, though. Every morning, Boz tries to play with her and he looks terribly forlorn when I have to stop him. As you can see, though, Luka is not about to give up his favourite spot on the bench for anyone. Unlike Boz, he's undoubtedly enjoying the peace and quiet. I've told him to make the most of it.
It's wet and muddy and miserable and we've had a terrible time trying to keep Tickle's splinted leg and foot clean and dry. There are dog boots available but of course they're dog-foot shaped and Tickle's foot is currently encased in a straight-up-and-down cast. So how on earth to protect it?
