Just over 2 weeks ago our wonderful girl had a catastrophic accident in the forest. She was scampering through the woodland and hooked herself on the only broken tree stump in 40 acres. I knew something had gone horribly wrong when I heard the greyhound scream of death (GSOD to the uninitiated) and as she limped towards me I could see the skin on her back leg flapping like a tattered pirate flag.
How I didn’t pass out on the spot I’m not sure I’ll never know, in fact these past two weeks have been an exercise in containing the urge to faint/vomit/evacuate my bladder involuntarily as we have gone to the vets on a tri-weekly basis to get the wound dealt with. I still haven’t decided if that is because of severity of the injury or the cost of the treatment.
The skin has died and is liquefying
A week into the recovery period I tell husband the dog is starting to smell bad. He gets closer for a sniff and then nearly passes out from the shock of the stench. Back to the vets I go with the whiffy woofer. The vet walks into the room and says ‘ooh smelly dog, that’s because the flap of skin I stitched back is starting to liquefy’.
‘Excuse me?’ I squeak.
‘Look here where the skin has turned black it’s rotting away and liquefying’ at which point he stood back and encouraged me to have a closer examination. Coincidentally it was the same time a hazy white fog descended in front of my eyes and the floor appeared to be made of jelly as it wobbled uncertainly under my feet.
‘Ohhhhhmmmppppph’ was all I could manage, trying very, very hard not to regurgitate my breakfast.
‘I’ll operate on her tomorrow to remove the putrification – see you at 9am’ and then he strode into another room to deal with something less disgusting, maybe emptying a dog’s anal glands.
For more than two weeks we have contended with the world’s largest cone of shame, crashing into doors and walls, indentations on the back of our legs as we are buffeted along while she clears tables, the bookcase and shoe rack like a canine tsunami destroying everything in her path.
I won’t lie, it’s been stressful and our nerves are shattered, the worry has been quite exhausting. Looking at her doleful face as she peers out from the cover of her cone my heart breaks just a little bit more and I feel desperate – as life is miserable for her too at the moment.
I also mangled my leg when out having a good time as a teenager and the stress I must have caused my parents fills me with contrition and to them I am truly sorry for the anxiety I would have put them through.
On the plus side, the vet reckons the stitches can be out in 2 weeks and then life can slowly start returning to normal and it really can’t come soon enough.
One thing is for sure, having seen my dog’s flayed leg on the vet’s table (along with rest of the dog) it will be a cold day in hell before I fancy a leg of lamb for dinner!