There have been few updates these last two weeks because all my energy has been focused on some very sick animals. A week last Monday, I started out as a Spartan. No other word for it. A small cat, fitting uncontrollably, sinking into a deep coma, temperature plummeting to 34 degrees C, blind, unresponsive on the edge - where was the production crew during this one I wondered - in their beds was the answer. 20mins kip on the floor, next to a fitting cat was my night. As the cat swallowed it's tongue at 3am and I lurched forward to sort it and top up the ten hour anaesthetic it endured, I told myself I employ staff for this sort of thing, I don't pay them enough I heard myself answer.

The cat lived, it recovered, it went home and trumpets sounded. Next up was a little puppy that decided to overdose on horse wormer. Blind for 3 days, touch and go but back on form and now ready to take on anyone's shoelaces who cares to go within range. All good. I felt like wearing a cape. Always wanted one but then I've always wanted a tail as well and both would look ridiculous and embarrass the children. I did some great ops, sorted out some very lame cows, stitched up a horse that had a huge hole in its neck, nailed some colics - even a local farmer has asked me to help his sick fish, I was full power, the zone of healing... and then it all came crashing down.

It does that. Just when you think you can sort stuff, you get a reality dose that you can't. My dog, Leuwen, was not quite himself one day. Bit flat, brought his food up, just a bit off colour. Then two days later he developed a small lump on his chest. My receptionist, Mandy, noticed it and we had a look, insect bite - no dramas I said. Tiny lump in the skin. I'm a vet, Cords is a vet, there are five vets all around him, no problem - he'll be fine.

Then it grew, in about two days, Leuwen got sicker, I took some bloods and blanched. Fighting the horrible feeling of desperate panic in my guts as I grappled with what on earth they meant - all bad news. Exciting in the worst possible way. Leuwen was severely neutropaenic and a touch anaemic - everything else fine but indicative of an internal bleed somewhere. Serious business, I got an external lab to double check the results within an hour and then I raced to a referral hospital about an hour away. I know the team there - they are all European Specialists at Anderson Moores and they bent over backwards to help him. In a few hours we had all the tests going and I took Leuwen back home holding my breath in hope there was something we could do. But it's very hard to turn the corner on a super aggressive Grade 5 substage 2 Lymphoma. Leuwen was six and half and he'd suddenly lost over 7kg in 5 days. I felt like I'd lost my arm. We thought it was in his bone marrow and the labs scurried around analysing cells to figure out exactly what was going on. Cords and I nursed him and our hearts broke as we knew the inevitable was close. Funny with the shoe on the other foot and like all worried owners, we fretted and wondered what to do. 

The thing with chemotherapy is that it is basically clutching at straws. I have a huge dilemma advising clients what to do in these situations and suddenly there we were, trying to figure it out for ourselves. But a year in a dogs life is like seven years in a humans and if we could get him through it, pain free, then surely it was worth a crack. My friend Ian, a top specialist in Internal medicine, kindly tried to tell me what only a mate can but it was the impossible dilemma. Cords and I drew the line at hospitalising him with stomach tubes and so on - he would have hated that and we could never have been parted from him for a second as he went downhill. We started some treatment at home and we did get a rally for a couple of days which was fantastic but steeling ourselves when he started to go down again was a tough one and we put him to sleep earlier this week. It was peacefully, it was dignified and it was bloody sad.

He was an amazing dog and a best friend and I will miss him more than words can say.

So, another weekend on call, a mast cell tumour on a lovely Weimaraner that is giving me a headache, a sick Afghan hound and I need to fix that fish. I'm not a Spartan - I'm very glad I don't have a cloak. But I am back on the bus and so it goes on.