My friend Harry's story (pt 2) - and a warning

I forgot to tell you yesterday that mistress met Vicky on a Land Rover forum. More a venue for roughy-toughy, macho, sexist men (not all of them) than anything else. When Vicky told us on the forum the first time Harry was poorly, she received lots of support. And as you know from yesterday's post, he improved after that first op.

So it's one of the reasons we try to send positive thoughts and good wishes when we hear about poorly doggies. It can't do any harm, and a little moral support for humans is always helpful at a difficult time. Anyway, here is part 2.


"But 15 minutes later he returned, with bad news.

Harry’s windpipe was almost closed up with scar tissue. After telling the vet Harry’s history, it became clear that in the early days after his bowel op - while he was almost comatose - he’d probably regurgitated some stomach acid.

And being unable to cough, it had gone down his windpipe and burnt it, the scar tissue had gradually built up, almost closing his airway. The only solution now was to remove as much of the damaged windpipe as possible and re-join what was left.

This operation carried the danger that the join could scar again even when the two joined parts were healthy. In Harry’s case it wasn’t known how much was damaged and only so much could be removed.

The op went well. It hadn’t been possible to remove all the damaged windpipe, and he was on steroids and anti-biotics to reduce the chance of scarring, but the vet was hopeful. The next four weeks would be crucial.

Harry stayed with the vet for a week and then Vicky collected him, but in a few days there were more problems. He’d developed an allergic reaction to the steroids, they caused ulcers in his lower bowel which started to bleed, so he was taken off them.

Days later, he returned to check how his windpipe was healing. There was no evidence of scarring, and there was a good wide opening in the windpipe.

Vicky drove to collect him, absolutely elated with the news, but worried what else was going to go wrong. It just felt like every time something went well he was knocked back again with another problem.

But the crucial time passed, and he built up his weight and his fitness.

Three months later, the pictures (on both these two posts) show Harry on one of his favourite walks in the Cotswolds. A picture of health, Vicky's Huge Happy Hairy Harry has returned. And in Vicky's eyes he has added another H to his name - Harry the Hero."

You can read the story in the July issue of Dogs Today.

The photos and text published here are with Vicky's permission.

It's so easy for dogs to pick things up from anywhere - inside or outside your home. There are so many things for them to pick up -and swallow. We can never be too careful. Harry was a fighter, he had a loving family like many of us on DWB - and finally, luck was with him.

Vicky wanted to tell this story so that people with dogs are aware of the dangers we all face - add sweetcorn cobs to that list of things to leave alone all you pups.

My friend Harry's story (pt 1) - and a warning

Here is the story of one of my first virtual pals. And a big warning about avoiding sweetcorn cobs.

"Huge Happy Hairy Harry, that’s what everyone called him at The Border Collie Trust where Vicky adopted him in May 1999.

He was brought in as a stray, approx 2-3 years old. He’d lived there for six months, unwanted because of his size.

But Vicky fell in love with him. His nickname suited him, he weighed around 30kg, he was long-coated and had a happy laid-back nature.

Some months ago, Harry retched a few times over a 4-5 week period, but otherwise he seemed OK. But one day he refused his evening meal and later he retched again.

The next day he was no better, so Vicky took him to the evening surgery. His temperature was slightly below normal, and his stomach appeared quite tender, but the vet couldn’t feel anything abnormal. Harry was given a couple of injections to help the pain and keep his fluid levels up.

She took him home, settled him down, and gradually gave him small sips of water mixed with glucose. But suddenly he stood up and vomited the lot.

It was obvious from the colour he was bleeding somewhere, and the smell was like rotting flesh. Vicky went straight back to the vet and after a long examination, the vet found an abnormal lump in his intestines. Harry was admitted straight away, put on a drip and she signed the consent form for surgery.

When the vet operated, he found a piece of sweet corn cob that was blocking Harry’s small intestine. The vet thought it could have been inside him for weeks, only causing a problem when it started to move through, blocking his intestines.

But Harry’s heart had stopped during the op, and he was given a 50/50 chance of pulling through. The vet rang twice that evening to say he was still alive, but very ill.

Harry made it through the night, and he was a bit better, but blood tests showed his liver and kidneys were struggling to rid his body of toxins from the corn cob, he’d got fluid on his lungs and they were worried he had brain damage because of his heart stopping.

When Vicky visited him, her heart sank. Harry lay motionless. She called his name, spent an hour stroking him and talking to him but there was no response.

The next day the vet said there was an improvement. Harry had lifted his head, and was licking water from a bowl. Although very weak, he managed a few mouthfuls of chicken that Vicky took him.

Eventually the vet said he could come off the drip and go home. There was nothing the vet was doing that Vicky couldn’t do at home.

He’d still made no effort to move his legs, and basically it was a last resort, hoping that being at home in familiar surroundings would encourage him.

He’d lost control of his bowels and was having to be rolled over and bathed on a regular basis. For the next two weeks, Vicky, her husband, and her daughter, took it in turns to roll him and do massage and physiotherapy on his legs.

As clean as they tried to keep him, he developed open sores on his heel and pad on one leg, which, with the dressing was restricting any movement.

Gradually there was a slight improvement. One day he stood for the first time, and two days later he managed a 2-3 minute walk outside. At last he was on the mend. His breathing was a little noisy, but with the effort he was putting into learning to walk again, it didn’t seem too abnormal.

The improvement was short lived. He was back at the vets after his breathing became noisy even when he was resting. After a ten-day course of antibiotics with no improvement, he was booked for a bronchoscopy.

Later that day, Vicky's vet said ‘Harry’s problem is beyond my capabilities. I'm getting him an appointment at a clinic that specialises in lung problems’. He offered to drive Harry the 20 miles to the specialist and she followed in her car.

They were seen straight away but after examining Harry, this second vet also said it was out of his league, and he recommended another specialist near Luton, 100 miles down the M1.

Vicky's vet saw the dismay on her face, and offered to drive her on the two-hour journey.

The next vet took one look at Harry and rushed him into surgery to try to ease his breathing. But 15 minutes later he returned, with bad news. .....

Part 2 tomorrow 'cos mistress says this is too long a story for one post

You can also read the story in the July issue of Dogs Today.

The photos and text published here are with Vicky's permission.