Paw Patrol
Right back at the very start of February, we spotted a distressed-looking stray bitch, frantically carrying tiny pups around the marina grounds seemingly looking for a safe place for them. We were just back from our “Being Half Indian” trip to Hyderabad and had just a few days on the ground before heading to Goa for our Yoga Retreat, so didn’t give it too much thought. When we returned about two weeks later, mum had installed the four pups under a pile of discarded AC units in the hotel engineering yard. Since Corona lockdown was just kicking in we had a load more time, and I guess an increased sense of compassion, to look out for them.
My family had Dobermans when I was growing up so I’ve always had a soft spot for dogs. Living on a small berry farm was a dog’s dream with my dad working from home on the farm, lots of other animals to befriend and lots of space to run around. Our last two were red Dobermans that we had from pups – the boy was called Shah Jahan, after the Mughal emperor who had the Taj Mahal built, and the girl Mumtaz Mahal, after his empress consort who died in childbirth, giving rise to the construction of the “monument to eternal love”. They were quickly abbreviated to “Shah” and “Taz”. At 11 or 12 years old, I vividly remember the day Shah was hit by a car leaving me devasted at an already particularly horrible time of my life. As my sister Amanda and I left to university and my mum planned to go middle-age backpacking for six months (she was about the same age then as I am now, so I totally get that!) she found a couple living on a lifestyle block farm a few hours’ drive from us who adopted Taz. She would clearly remember us when we visited her every year or so or when we were in that part of the country until she died about ten or so years later. I think Taz was one of the few dogs who was “sent to a farm in the country” who were really…. sent to a farm in the country!
Our friend Marcel off SY Chulugi has a travelling pet dog “Nico” on board, who we’ve dog-sat a couple of times to allow Marcel and Joanna to venture out of the marina. With Marcel’s compassion and dog-owning knowledge, he took the lead in looking after the stray pups: feeding, flea shampooing and worm treating them. Helen and I named them Murtle (always rolling on her back like a turtle, for a tummy rub), Boss (the biggest and strongest) and Wee Wee (who was taking a wee at the moment of naming). A fourth one, posthumously named Bolt, fell in the marina one night and didn’t live to tell the tale – the story later recounted to us by the marina security guard. The remaining three all had multiple turns falling in, mainly through playfulness or sheer clumsiness. For a few weeks, we were sleeping with one ear open for the yelping of pup frantically swimming in circles waiting for rescue.
Helen and I have toyed with the idea of adopting one when we sail away, but being realistic we realise that it’s not compatible with our lifestyle and would curtail our travelling far more than we are prepared for. Likewise, we have to remind ourselves that as cute as they are, they are stray dogs. As such, I’d decided some time ago to get them fixed (spayed/neutered) and get basic vaccinations, and did the research on the local government pet hospital. Far from clean but staffed by kind and knowledgeable staff, these places are also heavily subsidised- charging just Rp15 (us$0.20!) for a consultation or Rp800 (us$11) for spaying.
About ten days ago the pups starting looking worse for wear. Boss, in particular, was getting very skinny, and suffering from sickness and diarrhoea. Marcel and I bundled him up and took him across to the government facility for an intravenous drip, then a private vet for tests the following day. The timing was fortunate as this was just as lockdown restrictions were being loosened a little. It turns out that both Boss and Wee Wee had Parvovirus, though Murtle was clear. I did a little research and found that, like Covid19, it too jumped species (from cats to dogs/wolves/foxes), although back in the 1970s – hence why it is also known as Cat Flu. Now it’s a pretty serious illness and if untreated kills about 90% of dogs infected. The treatment involved returning to the vet daily for about a week, where they administer intravenous fluids including antibiotics, antiemetics (reduce nausea and vomiting), electrolytes and nourishment. They are always pretty zonked afterwards so I guess it is pretty hard on their little bodies.
I feel terrible admitting it now, but on the second night Boss was looking so terrible – all skin and bones, vomit around one end, diarrhoea the other, and a forlorn look of having given up, that I thought that it may be better for the poor guy if he died in his sleep that night. Thankfully, he managed to pull through, as has Wee Wee, and Murtle still seems as resilient as ever!
Amidst the multiple vet visits, worrying and money spent, I can’t help but ponder why humans prefer some animals over others. Many of us love their pets but don’t hesitate to sink their teeth into a bacon buttie in the same mealtime. It puzzles me that pigs, for example, have been shown to be more intelligent than dogs, and yet we treat almost all farmed animals so atrociously. Now that I’ve decided to not eat animals anymore I can sleep better at night, but it is impossible to not notice the hypocrisy all around us.
Boss and Wee Wee have a couple more parvovirus treatments to go and once they have their strength back, all of the pups will have a ‘snip’ visit to the vet to ensure fewer strays will be competing for limited resources around the marina. It is one of the positive things to come out of the COVID-19 lockdown though that there have been compassionate humans around to give these stray pups a good start in life.
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One Comment
Mel Bolland
You were there for a reason then x