Help me make it through the night

We’ve had a horrid 24 hours. Yesterday morning when I was taking the dogs out I noticed that Piglet was cocking more than usual. So I watched with more interest than usual and noticed that absolutely nothing seemed to be happening. We cut our walk short as he started getting more and more desperate, got home and rang the vet. That was the start of a day of to-ing and fro-ing between Leamington and home, with Piglet’s day getting worse and worse. The first visit involved a mild sedative (what a lovely quiet puppy he was) and the judicious use of a catheter. The vet knows what position not to stand at now, as he found himself wearing a substantial quantity of the three-quarters of a litre of strong urine Piggy had been collecting. Dalmatians are the only breed that produce uric acid instead of urea, and are prone to urate stones which, due to the anatomy of males, will cause a blockage far sooner than with females. A sample was tested and we went away with a supply of appropriate food for the condition and some antibiotics in case the catheter triggered an infection. So far, so good, and Piglet was walking with a smile again and a spring in his step.

Three hours later we were back to square one. Cocking, squatting, straddling, straining – all to no avail. By this time of course Saturday surgery was over so we had to call the emergency line. Ten minutes later we were on our way back to town again to meet the vet there. This time we took several x-rays, with Piggy being very good and not struggling too much when he was laid on his side (which he hates) and being tied to the table by legs and head and being weighted down by sandbags to keep him still. Ned stayed stroking his head reassuringly while Vet wore a lead pinny and I was shoved behind a screen. I didn’t notice Ned glowing in the dark last night so that’s all right. The plates weren’t really terribly helpful (I’ve learned that urate stones (as opposed to struvite stones, more common in other breeds) often don’t show up well. But there were certainly anomalies, so we realised he’d have to be opened up.

I’m amazed how unsqueamish I was as I sat in my corner and watched as my puppy was knocked out and opened up. Another litre of urine was drawn out of another catheter; Vet gave a good running commentary and I learned a lot and I earned myself some brownie points by making pertinent remarks, to the extent where his response to one comment was “How the fuck do you know that?” Anyway, after a certain amount of groping around in the bladder a small stone, about 5mm by 3mm was removed. Very small for all that trouble, but that’s boys’ anatomy for you. It'll be sent to Minnesota for testing to determine its composition so we can know how to adjust his diet. The catheter was used to give the system a good rodding and then he was closed up again, given time to recover and then we brought him home.

When Piglet sneaked onto Ned's chair when we were washing up we didn't have the heart to turf him off as usual, which left Harry totally gobsmacked, practically pointing at Pig and looking at us and saying "Mumumumumumlookathim!He'sabadboy!" Then he sulked. At bedtime though we were doubtful Piggy was going to make it till morning. He was very poorly, sore and sorry for himself. Sleep was reduced to the exhausted coma one slumps into for a few minutes before the nightmares begin. Then, at the third nocturnal visit he wagged his tail at me, turned over and settled down again! Hooray! His early-morning painkiller was readily taken with a little food, then an hour later we had a tentative turn in the garden. At my suggestion he went over to a vertical, straddled and tried to pee. I held my breath. Ned held his breath. Piglet held his breath. Nothing seemed to be happening until … a drop! Then another! There followed, not a stream exactly, but certainly a flow, albeit of unusual colouring. Ned heaved a sigh, I cried and Piglet closed his eyes in bliss. We were over the mountain.

Now it’s a matter of post-op care and dietary alteration to prevent a recurrence. And to remember never to have boys again.

The wound.