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For the first few days fter Mac died it felt like my heart was being squeezed in a vice as Kizzy and I went on our walks without him, passing every spot where he used to goof around, or chase his tail or just generally stretch his great big long legs and enjoy being himself. I'm not a newby to grief, so I knew that it would be like that for a while and I thought I would just try and ride it out as best I could without doing too much splurgy crying when people asked me about him (yeah, good luck with that one Kerrie). The Fates however, decided to add a little salt to my grief soup, and test my poor Kizzy dog to the limits.
I am going to cut this story down to its bare bones, because it the details of it are too difficult to talk about but here it is:
Three days after Mac died, Kizzy ran through a bush and came out the otherside with no skin from her elbows to her hips, her fur hanging around her waist like a goulish kilt. It was the most catastrophic de-gloving I have ever seen (and I wish I could unsee it, but hey-ho), and I will never forget running up to the bush and seeing Kizzy inside looking like an anatomical model, sitting very still and struggling with the shock.
The next bit of this story involves quite a bit of panic but my husband and I managed to get Kizzy to the local vet who put on a wet dressing and sent us to the Small Animal (Dick) Vet in Edinburgh. On the drive up there, despite a hefty dose of painkillers and a huge amout of shock, Kizzy never lost consciousness but kept her eyes locked on mine as I talked nonsense to her in the most calming voice I could muster. I handed her over to the hospital convinced that I would never see her again and drove home somewhere on the outskirts of numb. It was difficult to think of what pain Kizzy must have been in - when they wheeled her away she was curled up in a tiny ball, but she still lifted her head so she could see me, right until they shut the door and I had to leave. At the beginning of the week I had my two dogs with me and by the end I had none.
None of us were allowed to see her for the next three weeks. I had long discussions with the vet who convinced me that attempting to treat the wound was worthwhile despite its almost catastrophic nature, because if Kizzy recovered she would be able to live a normal life again. We agreed that if, in the treatment, it got to a certain point (not enough skin left living to cover the wound, too much pain for Kizzy) we would let her go. Every day for three weeks I got a phone call to find out how she was doing, and every day I had to prepare to hear that she had died. I went on my dog walk every day without my beloved dogs and felt very bleak indeed.
But hey! You have to know that this story has a happy ending - because although Mac was never coming back Kizzy did and now almost five months later she is enjoying life again as if nothing had happened. So here is to you Kizzy The Wonderdog - who wouldn't give up no matter what and fought hard to make it home again to cockroach on your favourite sofa - you really are one of a kind!
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| The left hand side of the wound, just after coming home |
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| The right hand side of the wound. |
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| In the padded cell with her muzzle on - essential to limit mobility and protect her stitches but she hate it sooooo much! |
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The last part of the wound to be closed
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| Stitches out! |
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| Taking an interest! |
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| Stylish attire for the dog with no fur! |
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| Fur growing back and allowed to get up and down from the sofa - bliss! |
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| Learning to to love life again. |
