Rufus. Or ‘All about a dog.’

Rufus looks like Rover from “The Giggler Treatment” by Roddy Doyle. He is half Bouvier, a long-haired, scruffy black dog. He was playing with a blue rubber ball that he’d found in the park. Trevor was kicking it for him and speaking to the visitor in our garden. “Four months ago this dog was completely paralysed”.

It was the 12th of June, the middle of winter, and Rufus arrived home from his morning walk in the arms of Trevor. No Miss Money Penny, devoted companion of Rufus. She had bolted up onto the contour path on Table Mountain, in panic. Rufus lay on my bed in a pool of urine and faeces, his shocked body not knowing what to do. I phoned the vet. When Trevor had left the house that morning he’d met up with another dog walker. He hadn’t put the leads on our dogs YET. When he saw the car coming up the road he put up his hand, asking the driver to stop so he could manouver the dogs off the road. She chose to go round them. And not stop. The car hit him on his back and legs.

Our vet did what she could for Rufus but within half an hour she suspected spinal damage. She told me to take him to the specialist in Panorama for an MRI scan. Panorama clinic is a 24 hour animal hospital. Rufus spent the next 8 days in a metal cot, needing 24 hour attention.

The first two days were the ‘will he or won’t he make it’ days. The chart hanging on his bed showed records and times of feeding etc. but not the residual trauma of the accident, the confusion and horror in which it all happened. We often found him half awake in a morphine-dazed state his slow, glassy eyes moving round to see us as he heard us arriving. The nurses were friendly and efficient. He was fed, turned over, and cleaned like a baby every few hours. The MRI revealed nerve damage around his spine and a broken pelvis. No broken legs. He would get better but would he walk again? When he wasn’t zonked out he was in pain. He was getting 24 hour attention. When we visited him, if there was sun, we carried him outside. We brought our best cheerful attitude although it hurt to see him like that. We took Miss Money Penny (who had been rescued on the mountain that day and taken to the vet), to visit him. She lay with him in the cot, eyes searching for our reassurance. We took him his favourite foods to encourage him to eat. We knew that once past the critical stage he would be better off at home. The doctor discharged him, his prognosis ‘guarded’ but hopeful. He was only 3 years old so his pelvis would heal.

But arriving home was a different story. I have forgotten the misery of the first few weeks. We were happy to have him home and I’m sure he was, but there wasn’t a lot to be optimistic about. We had an injured dog who still needed 24 hour care and we were very unsure. The first night home he slept next to our bed but was disoriented and in pain the whole night. Trevor tried sharing his mattress on the floor. The following day we carried him into the lounge where, for the next few weeks, I slept with him. He in his house of cushions, chairs and a waterproof mat and blankets loaned to us from the vet. And me on the couch. Rufus rested, slept and ate.

On his first day home I had received a desperate call from my youngest daughter. He had an upset stomach and there was a terrible mess. His large, injured and ungainly hairy body was full of poo. Poor Rufus. Poor me. When friends saw him for the first time they just had this look of pity.

We never questioned that he would live. I often felt despair, frustration and anger, often with Trevor because it was ‘his fault’, and with Rufus even though it wasn’t his fault. And I even managed to blame myself. We coped. Our poor kids took the back seat, almost forgotten. Trevor, who is naturally optimistic and loves Rufus so much, felt so guilty that he moved heaven and earth and me to get him right again. The swimming sessions and physiotherapy we had started in the hospital were the highlight of the week. A ride in the car and then the swim with the kind lady in the pool. And then afterwards the clean energised Rufus would be happily tired for the rest of the day. Later the acupuncturist, and the hydrotherapist also helped. Insurance would have helped too if we’d had it. ( Medipet seems the best option.) Friends helped and many asked how he was.

We were given a 6 week period. After that we’d know if he’d walk again. The physiotherapist did house calls. She looked disappointed at his lack of progress. We were told to get Rufus up onto his feet every day, make him walk to his food and stand to eat it, but he was resistant. Why go through the pain and effort to ‘walk’ when he could drag himself around the house? Rufus in drag.

Usually, when he wanted to go somewhere one of us would get the sling and force him up onto all fours. All threes. He would take flying ungainly steps. He got quite fast. Swimming was helping and the physiotherapist was looking happier. We all got excited. 4 weeks came up and we thought we were all making great progress.

Until we saw the acupuncture guy. Each specialist has their own opinion. He had an hour and a half worth of opinions. He lived up to his title. He gave us a high five through the face. “He’s going to develop a banana shape unless we give him a brace.” He told us to slow down. And he wasn’t optimistic. I didn’t really like him at first. Rufus hated him and had to be muzzled. It was also the needles. We started new hydrotherapy in conjunction with the acupuncture. The new hydro therapist has a huge love for animals and a brilliant team who work with her. They called Rufus a ‘sexy’ dog on their first meeting. That did it for him. And me. They have these growly conversations while he gets his massage in the jacuzzi after his swim. She showed us how to help him move each foot one step at a time. At first we couldn’t believe we had to do this. It was laborious and like starting all over again. But after three days he had a tottering but ‘correct’ walk using all four legs for the first time, and we were ecstatic. The vet was much more encouraging the second time round. “He’s doing well” he said with a big smile.

Those 6 weeks are now five months. We are happy with his slow but sure recovery. A friend in the park asked me the other day, “Do you think Rufus has lost his spark?” The answer is no. He’s still a sweet, scruffy dog who loves to be loved and who knows that he is. And he knows what it’s like to be a bit on the rough side of life.