Hemingway & Herriot

Hemingway & Herriot
Lily Greener

I took an English course my senior year of college where we did a lot of group papers, and my group would always joke that I was the Closer. For whatever reason, the rest of the group wanted to do the middle but steered clear of the intro and conclusion; I couldn’t understand this because I live for a good hook and wrap-up. Anyway, it worked out perfectly because I pride myself on always having something to say, on knowing how to introduce an idea, on always knowing where to begin and then finishing with a bang.

Which is why I’m at such a loss now. I don’t know where to begin with the last few days because my heart is so very heavy.

I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, even if that makes me a hippie-fortune-cookie, but in any case, I don’t think anything happens by accident in this life. So I don’t think it was by accident that my friend Alysha and I, who were scheduled for two different units on Tuesday, happened to decide to go in early and work in the Injection Ward (a different part of the hospital) that day. And I don’t think it was an accident that we walked up to the unit right as a six-pound-nothing puppy was pulling herself up the ramp, her back legs out of commission as she struggled to drag them along behind her.

We ran over and immediately began questioning the doctors and clients standing around as to whose she was. After a few shrugs, it was very clear that she was no one’s. So immediately, she became ours. I scooped up this sorry little creature with legs completely covered in open scabs and rug burns from being dragged along the ground, and we walked over to the Small Animal Medicine unit to have her examined.

We quickly realized that some trauma to the spine – likely from a vehicle accident – had left her paralyzed from the waist down. While it is also very serious in humans, when this type of injury occurs in dogs, it is usually a death sentence, as damage to this area often results in the animal not being able to urinate or defecate on its own. Regardless, our professor was kind enough to pay to have her seen by the specialists and to have some some further tests done to determine the extent of her injuries and to get a better idea of her prognosis.

As Alysha and I spent our morning running from one unit to the other – this hospital is laid out with each unit as separate machines, so you must go between them to pick up everything you need – we soon realized that this girl was special. We’d cleaned up her wounds, pulled off ticks, washed out her ears and eyes, dewormed her and wrapped her up tight in a blanket. Our little burrito had had a rough morning (and likely a rough life so far since she was only a few months old and the injury had probably happened early on), but she was so sweet. We nicknamed her Dobby (“it’s all downhill after you name them” – Alysha) because she looked just like the little house elf from Harry Potter with the way her ears and elbows stuck out at odd angles. Even with all of the morning’s events, she was still gentle, looking up at us occasionally to make sure she was still safe – which we assured her she was – before burrowing her little head back in our arms. I was kicking myself for not bringing my usual spare bag of dog food with me to the clinic (for the strays, not for my afternoon snack…), but she didn’t mind. She patiently complied while we took radiographs and set her in a brace, then went quietly back to sleep on our hands while we discussed options for her.

And here’s where it hurts. Alysha and I had been talking all day about what we could to do help this dog, and the tough part about veterinary medicine is that, at times, the best thing you can do for an animal is to peacefully let it go. I would have loved to take this dog back to the US, but asking someone to manually express her bladder multiple times a day (even though I know my saint of a mother would have) would not only be a huge request but a huge burden on this pup for the rest of her life. Now, there are a lot of differing opinions out there, but what I have come to believe regarding this controversial topic is that euthanasia as a treatment option is an incredible gift to offer our patients. It is one that we as pet owners and pet caregivers have at our disposal and is not to be taken lightly. Unfortunately, to make things more complicated, there is widespread aversion in India to euthanasia, which I find odd given the many animals I have seen for whom this would be a blessing. As they say, though, you really don’t know until you’re in the shoes making the decision, and we experienced that firsthand yesterday.

After agonizing all day, I went in to talk to my professor about putting this sweet girl to sleep. With a compression fracture at the juncture of her thoracic vertebrae, lumbar vertebrae and diaphragm, her prognosis was poor, and it had been made clear that we could not care for her during our stay here. Unfamiliar with the area, I knew of few options, and since the strays here are a very marginalized population, I feared that she would be left alone once we leave. Even if we’d been in the States, a fracture and debilitating condition like hers would lead to a poor quality of life – one that a pup this young does not deserve. However, given the aversion to euthanasia here, we were told that that was not an option at this time. I intend to do more research, but it’s my understanding that there is a certain waiting period and protocol that must be undertaken before euthanasia can be given. Essentially, there have to be no other options. Luckily, throughout my time at the veterinary hospital I met an incredibly supportive clinician, and, though she is a Large Animal vet, she happened to see me drying my eyes after a solid sob-fest in a stairwell and wanted to help. She immediately called a former student who runs the SPCA across the street, and he agreed to take Dobby in to see if she improves at all. We carefully carried her across the busy street and laid her down in the kennel on a blanket with one last ear scratch.

Fortunately, this facility is very close to where we are staying so we will be able to visit her each day before we leave. We stopped in today to see her, and even though her paralyzed back end prevents tail-wagging, she struggled to sit up as soon as she saw us and cried with recognition. She pulled herself to the edge of her blanket, and we scooped her up with kisses all around. We sat with her for some time and with mild success managed to tell the Animal Inspector and caregiver who had let us in that her name was Dobby. She was unsure how to eat the food we brought her, but after wetting the pieces and putting them right in front of her she dove in, looking up periodically to beam at us over her treasure trove of food. We’ll be stopping in tomorrow to meet with the Madras alumna who is head of the facility to see what their treatment plan for her is and also to see what supplies and help they need.

As hard as the last two days have been, this experience has been unbelievably eye-opening. I have seen hundreds of stray dogs here, and, while I have tried to share my dinner with as many as I can, I fully understand that solving this problem is not something I will be able to do – at least not now. However, I have struggled immensely with wrapping my head around the concept of an entire stray population, especially when so many of our patients every day are walked right past them on their way to the hospital. It’s as though the strays are a different species completely, and I can’t quite understand how it can be commonplace for one group of dogs to be homeless while another (potentially an even smaller group, honestly) is considered worthy of care and attention. In truth, I have tried so hard to comprehend this mentality, but yesterday was something of a straw for me seeing that puppy Lieutenant-Dan itself up the sidewalk, trying desperately to get to help and receiving none. It was heart-wrenching to see people with their own healthy animals two feet away not look twice at this one so in need of help.

I realize I should caveat this entire thing: I am fully aware that my views are not always shared and are, at times, unpopular. I am also fully aware of what it looks like when a 23-year-old woman cries over a stray dog. Really, I am. It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last time. But kindness is not a flaw. Crying does not make me weak. It makes me strong. It means that I am capable of loving and continuing to love every day that I go into work even when it hurts so much that on occasion I have to step into an abandoned stairwell and weep. It is something that I have honestly been working on in my own life because I recognize that there will be many that I cannot help in the years ahead of me. And yet, for this one dog everything is different and she will not be spending another night dragging herself around on the streets.

The weight of loving anything in this world is so heavy, but I don’t ever want to stop. Throughout the day I kept returning to the story of Esther (one of my favorites) and the line that says “Perhaps you were placed here for such a time as this.” I know that we cannot help all of them, but I have no doubt that we were placed on the other side of the world to find that paralyzed dog yesterday and to get it to safety. The fact that both and Alysha and I decided to go to that part of the hospital early and right then. The fact that Dobby was there right as we were walking up. The fact that we were in a position to help her and knew where to go and who to talk to to get her what she needed. I may have missed out on a day of clinics, but we were able to follow her case from start to finish and that was just as valuable to me.

I’ve written before about my struggle with being gentle and keeping my mouth shut. It’s still true. But experiences like this remind me that this voice which I cannot seem to keep to myself was given to me for a purpose. My favorite character from one of my favorite movies is a really small part – I love the preacher from The Patriot and not just because he is adorable. I love him because he does not stand and watch as the militia calls for aid. This quiet, old man is the first to stand up and fight even when it would have been so easy – and acceptable – for him to stay behind and continue to softly lead the church. Instead, he steps forward, knowing that he is the Shepherd, and “at times, the Shepherd must fight off the wolves.” Being a protector means also being a defender. That is a role I am still learning. I am still learning how to not only respond emotionally to the voiceless cases, but to direct my energy in a practical way – how to convert my heartache into advocating. Because that dog didn’t need someone to pet it and walk away. It didn’t need pity. It needed someone to pick it up and speak for it. I don’t ever want a skin so thick that I lose the ability to recognize those who need to be picked up and defended.

“To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived – that is to have succeeded.”
~ Emerson