Lessons from Sunday

Over the last few days of thinking about Sunday, a few ideas have settled out of the cloud of action and emotion that followed my finding her, taking her to the shelter, and her death.

1. Take tick-borne diseases seriously, and 'prevention is better than cure'.

I paid lip-service to the possibility of one of our animals becoming sick from the parasites that throng to them during the summer: I bought Frontline and wormer but did not use them with the precision and care that make them effective prophylactics. It took looking into Sunday's belly and seeing how her blood could not clot, making her body unable to cope with her surgery to make me realise that taking an extra five minutes to apply Frontline properly really can save a life – or at least the misery and expense of illness. After Lizzie was spayed, the vet said something about her having bled heavily internally possibly because of ticks, but he never emphasised either the seriousness of the problem or how easy it is to combat.

Lizzie

Sputnik had his tests a few days ago and recieved the all clear for leishmania and erlichiosis, and the vet showed me how to clip the hair on his neck so that the Frontline goes directly on to the skin for full absorbtion. “Every month,” she said. “You have to put it on at least every month to be sure that he's covered. And if you see that it begins to be less effective, switch brands. Our ticks and fleas sometimes become resistant if you always use the same brand.”

2. Educate yourself and ask questions.

I don't blame the vets at the shelter for Sunday's death: they're busy and rely on others to obtain the details of the dogs on which they operate. Sunday left the shelter kennels and went to the clinic for three procedures – a blood test for leishmania and one full blood screening for other parasites or problems, and a spay. She was spayed before she was tested. Had she been tested first, the vets would have been able to tell that she had a erlichiosis. She would have been treated for a month and then could have been spayed safely. I didn't know enough to insist on that. Before your animal goes for a routine procedure, educate yourself as to what is involved and the potential risks, and don't be afraid to ask questions or question authority. You can't know everything, but learn what you can.

3. Understand your local shelter's policy.
   
   

Cyprus has a serious animal welfare problem: far too many animals for the number of available homes. Shelter space is extremely limited, and only one shelter, Paphiakos, will take in any animal with no questions asked. The up-side of Paphiakos' policy is that if you find an animal on the road or in distress, you can count on them to take in without a quibble. The down-side is that that animal will either be quickly euthanised or will cost a lot to extricate.

When I found Lizzie, I took her to the nearest shelter, PAWS. Annie M., whom I had known for years, initially refused to take her on the grounds of having no room. She eventually conceded when I told her that I'd lay bets that I would be back for her within the week. I was, and I took Lizzie joyfully home after paying a donation of ten cyprus pounds. In the days that followed, I took her to be spayed and chipped and vaccinated, and for a few happy weeks, she was a part of the family. But Annie has gone back to the UK and PAWS is only open for two hours each morning, so I took Sunday to Paphiakos. When I mentioned that on a local forum, I took a lot of flak: “any dog, particularly a hunter, taken to Paphiakos is almost immediately killed” and other similar comments. I checked with various long-time pet-owners in the area, and they confirmed this. That's why I decided to try to get Sunday out and give her a chance.

Sunday, the day before her op.

But once an animal is in Paphiakos, springing them is not cheap. The website (click on Re-Homing tab)  states clearly that charges for spaying, chipping, vaccinating, parasite treatment, and municipal license must be met REGARDLESS OF WHAT TREATMENT HAS BEEN DONE TO THE ANIMAL PRIOR before it can be released to its new home. In other words, if you want to adopt a dog that has already been spayed, you will still have to pay the spaying charge (115-184 Euros); a dog might have been micro-chipped by its former owner, but you will still have to pay for chipping (34.50). The management justifies this by saying that it needs to cover all charges incurred in its countrywide rescue service, and also by saying that any potential owner needs to understand that having a pet involves financial commitment, but in reality it means that dogs like Sunday are priced out of a home. There are few people like Rosie who would pay her medical bills, sponsor her (90 Euros for six months minimum) in an attempt to keep her off the notorious PTS (put to sleep) list, and even be willing to pay her rehoming fee should she manage to find someone to take her on. The reality for un-chipped dogs like Sunday, who sometimes come in at a rate of ten per day in the hunting season, is euthanasia – often well-within the fifteen days that they are supposed to have as a window for re-homing or adoption.

Sputnik the day we found him in June 2011.

He settled in quickly...

I understand why this situation exists, but it doesn't make the decision of what to do with the stray animals that I find on my doorstep – and there have been around 15 in the last few years – any easier.

A Visit to the Vet

After his week's elope with the Siberian beauty, Sputnik returned home thinner, dirty, and scarred. He had been staying at Cuz's Supermarket at the end of the road, but although we had tried several times to bring him back, he always found a way to return to his lady, the Ice Queen – so we let them be in their love nest between the gas bottles and the water tanks.

The Acolyte's blood had come off, but he still had some oil stains on his coat. “You should see the back of the supermarket,” Sophia said. “It's disgusting. No wonder he's filthy!” He had a bare patch on his hip, his ears had been bitten, and he had a cough.

“Dissolute living!” I told him as I poured his breakfast kibble. “There's always a price.”

But when Sophia noticed a trail of bright red blood under his tail after yesterday's walk, I decided that the time had come to visit the vet.

“Which vet do you use?” is a constant topic among Paphos pet owners. After much trial and error, I have cast my lot with Paphiakos who also run the largest animal welfare in the district. They are open 0700-1900 every day of the year (although clinic hours are shorter), have bi-lingual staff, clean premises, a tea-room, and plenty of love to go around. Also, their prices are well within the reasonable range.

We arrived at 8.40 and spent the twenty minute wait in the tea room with two enormous cats, two nescafes, and thick slices of banana nut loaf. Overwhelmed by his ride in the back of the Land Rover (“Mum, do you think that Sputnik hates cars so much because he associates them with having been abandoned on the road, probably from a car, and he thinks that we're taking him somewhere to dump him?”), Sputnik didn't know what to do with himself: he had to smell everything at once, to see everything, to investigate the cats, the cake, the outdoors.

The vet gave him a thorough examination, and pronounced him 'healthy, but a bit run down' when we told her of his escapades. “He's been very stressed, very excited,” she said. “He didn't eat well while he was away, and his immune system suffered.” (Why does that remind me of another adolescent male that I know?) “That's why he has an overgrowth of skin parasites that are normally present but controlled.”

“I don't want to put him on anti-biotics for his cough,” she continued, as his lungs are clear of fluid. “But if you notice that it gets worse, that he stops eating, or see more blood, bring him in again.” She gave me a worming tablet for him, and instructions for a thorough bath.

On the trip back he looked out of the window with interest rather than angst, and sprawled on the floor of the back while I nipped into Carrefour to see if I could find any gloves for the Littles (I did – the last two pairs of a size that will fit). When we got home, Sophia bathed him – to his disgust – and he's now sleeping in the sunshine.

The bill – for half an hour appointment with a full examination, two diagnostic tests (fungus and parasites), and a worm pill? Forty-six Euros. Seemed reasonable to me.