8 September 2014

So far so good...

So far so good…

Jeez, I hope I never have another day quite as stressful as yesterday. And it started out so well too! While Peter was out walking Oscar, I thought I’d take Martha for her first supervised stroll around the ‘grounds’ at Bidborough. She was well up for it, running all over the shop, buzzing up and down the length of the garden. She climbed a little way up a tree, to about head height. That’s OK, I thought. Shows she’s gaining in confidence and competence. She loved that so much she next started on our biggest fir tree (you can guess what’s coming). Full of excitement and OVERconfidence, she went zooming up, way past head height, then stopped and looked down and clearly thought ‘Oh shit, that’s a long way down. Now what do I do? I know, I’ll go higher’. And higher, and higher and……

No amount of calling or enticing tuna was going to get her down. That’s when the real fun started. This tree, you have to be aware, is at least 40ft tall, I kid you not. First I called the Fire Brigade. They won’t come out unless the RSPCA attends and calls them. So I called the RSPCA. They just suggested the tuna route. No amount of pleading that it’s a 40ft fir tree, she’s 4 months old and this is pretty much her very first encounter with a tree was going to persuade them. They apparently had no inspectors available. Gee, thanks. What is the bloody RSPCA for, I ask?! Not impressed.

They suggested a tree surgeon. Great, and on a Sunday too. But that’s what we had to do in the end. Contacts in the village got us a couple of guys, grandad and grandson, from Hadlow. So up went grandson. And up and up and up and up…. Inevitably, the closer he got, the higher she went. Until she was at the very top of the tree, on a spindlyest bendyest bit at the very very top. (So they tell me, I couldn’t watch by this point.) He managed to grab her and get her on his shoulder, ready to transfer to his jacket (why he didn’t take his net up I don’t know) and then what did she do? Of course, she leapt! OMFG.

I was in the neighbour’s garden at this point as that was where operations were taking place so had to beetle back to our house and try to find her. I’d heard Oscar yelp from his crate in the kitchen so I guessed she’d whizzed indoors and past him. Eventually I found her on a low shelf in our lounge wall unit, apparently unhurt. And asking for food!

However, I noticed later she was limping a bit. Eventually we took her to the emergency vets (£200! – hopefully at least largely covered by insurance). A good checkover suggested she’s only either broken or just sprained one or two toes. How many lives has that robbed her of, do we reckon?

I don’t think my stress levels have returned to normal even now. She, meanwhile, is supposed to be resting but is hurtling around my place as though nothing’s happened. She’s still limping ever so slightly but what a lucky girl is she, eh? And thank goodness I haven’t had to call her breeder and tell her I’ve managed to kill her precious little girl within a fortnight – doesn’t bear thinking about.

Why do we put ourselves through this, again, someone remind me? Oh yeah, because we adore them.

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