This One’s For The Dog Lovers

My parents left abruptly one day, significantly cutting short their visit. Coming home after drinks following an Asia Bankers Club – Georg Jensen mini-event, Kings and I were greeted by grim expressions. The vet had called just a little earlier – one of their dogs had suffered a seizure and they weren’t sure if she would make it through the night.

Not my parents' mutt, random mutt in Sai Kung that looks quite like her...

Angeline isn’t even that old, maybe 7, but she has been obese most of her life. (Though only the vet seems to notice.) She also inherits the name my mother reserved for any other daughters she might have. But I’ll go with Muppy, short for her nick “Mutt Puppy” which she also answers too, because I think it’s cooler. My parents bring Muppy and the other (super fit and healthy older) dog on 5 am walks in Gurney Drive, and she eats significantly less than JD does, yet is some 7-10kg heavier, though they have similar frames. If there was an Owners Of Overweight Animals And Don’t Call My Dog Fat support group in Penang, my mum could chair.

Right there in the doorway, we book my parents back on the next available flight. At the time Muppy had been unable to walk 4 days, and this was her second seizure (the first was apparently very mild and she got over it quickly) – the vet hadn’t thought it dire enough circumstances to call til they thought she might die. He didn’t know exactly what was wrong with her either. That night, my mother was praying she arrived before the dog was gone.

The next day at 6am I come out for a pre-sanitized bag (to store expressed breast milk) and my mum is standing in the living room fully dressed and ready to go. The flight is at 3pm. I hoped the dog stabilized before they boarded the 4+ hour flight because my mum is 66 and I worry about her stress levels, though a googled and printed-out article Kings finds mentions seizures are rarely life-threatening. But scary nonetheless.

My parents made it back. Except the vet wouldn’t let them come straight from the airport because after my mum spoke to the dog over the phone from Hong Kong (by all means enjoy yourselves), Muppy got so agitated hearing her voice that they had to double the sedative (which obviously isn’t good for the dog). Thinking back, the vet must’ve barricaded his ICU and threatened to shoot my parents with animal tranquilizer told them it could be worse for Muppy – my mum has never forgotten one of her dogs died of kidney failure on the operating table several years ago without her getting to say goodbye.

The next day my parents camp out in the vet’s clinic for the rest of the day while my mum syringes porridge into the dog. (We are all pretty good at force feeding animals medications and stuff, at some point I also learned to breed hamsters for a science project, but that’s another story. My mum is much better at cleaning up after a dog that has incontinence, though. Another old mutt of hers tottered about that way in the last stages of her spoiled, bark-at-the-bottom-of-the-stairs-even-if-it’s-the-tiniest-of-drizzles-because-someone-will-come-sleep-on-the-sofa-with-me life. In fact this trip I bought the nicest dog potty training pants I could find for her dogs in black, to use as a diaper cover after she saw JD wearing a pink baby diaper one day and thought it was brilliant, except for the pink. She would rather mop the entire home with Dettol, half-bathe her dogs if they have any accidents, blow dry, and – wait for it – apply olive oil so their fur doesn’t dry out, apparently it’s better than fur conditioners, than have her dog be caught in a pink baby diaper.)

This story was to say Wow My Mum Is Obsessed With Loves Her Dogs.

We don’t know the final outcome with Muppy yet, last report from my dad is she appears blind and still can’t walk. It’s early days but in case you were wondering, we have agreed to euthanize upon vet recommendations before. My mother has also nursed old, crippled dogs who were otherwise healthy and in no other discomfort for several years, before they passed peacefully. Her ability to handle night feeds and the worst of Rockstar dramas comes from her long-standing dog dramas. I swing between worrying she is getting too old to lug sick, crippled dogs around and thinking her rather extreme acts of kindness somehow raise her strength and resilience.

We’ve said goodbye to several animals in the past, not that it gets easier though. You keep it together and go on loving, for the ones still around. For the ones still to be around in future. For ones you can still do something for. 

One night, leaving one of the first dealing rooms I worked in, having stayed back as usual to go over transactions and read research papers (got gym membership for the shower facilities nearby), I got on the train and opened the little card from my mother (used to sift through my mail while commuting). Getting off at the next stop, I walked back to Raffles Place and sat on some steps in the Boat Quay area, and mourned the loss of my first dog. (Not counting Smokey, the huge mutt I used to ride “horseback” on while I was still in diapers). Vicky had been with me since I was 14.

And then this creep who had too much to drink sat down next to me and tried to strike up a conversation and I got all Alien Queen on him but that’s another story.

Ps: Watching President Obama fight back live on CNBC right now.

Pps: Hang Seng is up almost 0.9%! 😀