Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
are quite capable of deriving enormous pleasure from spotting a miscreant stamp, date, or
spelling mistake. The consequences of this are too dire to contemplate and include refusal
to continue one's journey. So it is very important
indeed
to get it all right.
We had used this system for years, travelling with Sam. He was one of the first non-
ferrets to use this form of cross-channel transport and found the whole process entirely re-
laxing. We opened the car windows, which allowed him to watch, fascinated, as hapless
foot-passengers staggered along the side of the train. Clinging to the safety rail they gen-
erally sought the toilets with the un-openable doors (a quick whiff usually giving a fairly
accurate directional clue).
The dog had more legal paperwork than we did and at the time of each departure
and re-entry, positively radiated anti-tick/flea/mosquito/parasite and rabies potions. So, as
a seasoned traveller, I knew Sam was good to go, but I wasn't so certain about Biff. He did
have a pet passport and associated jabs and stabs, but I decided to pop him in to our local
vet for a precautionary check-up prior to departure.
On arrival, Biff waddled around performing his usual pees and searching for black
trousers to attack. Jenny, the vet, began the examination by giving me a severe lecture about
his weight before poking around with the stethoscope. Starting at the lungs and moving to-
wards his heart she paused, frowned, glanced at me and then began again.
“Is Biff ever sick and does he cough at all?” she asked, looking at me.
He hadn't lived long enough with us for me to have detailed knowledge of all his un-
savoury habits. However, now it was mentioned, I supposed yes, he did cough a bit. I also
explained the fizzing incidents which were fairly regular and were sometimes accompanied
by a minor throw-up. Jenny looked grave and said that it all made sense.
“For starters he's got a severe heart murmur,” she explained, “and there seems to be a
lot of liquid around his heart and lung area. I'd better take some X-rays.”
Of course I agreed and Biff was taken away for further examinations. The results were
not good. It turned out that poor Biff was living on borrowed time. Jenny thought he had
probably been born with the heart murmur but because it had never been treated, it had
caused inflammation and a strain on his heart which had now swollen to four times its
usual size. To compound matters he also had bladder stones, which was the cause of his
propensity to wee at the drop of a hat.
To make things worse still, she said the heart problem was now so severe (he was
around eight years old at the time) that it couldn't be rectified. But we could at least treat
the symptoms and hopefully arrest the growth rate. Her final pronouncement on this long
list of maladies was that because he was
obviously
clinically obese (with a pointed stare at
me) this was making the heart work even harder, so it was something
I
needed to sort out
immediately.
I was genuinely shocked and totally overcome with remorse. After all, he'd had a
tough start, destined to life in a shoe box until rescued by my Mum. Then he'd been taken
