Happy Christmas (Not!)

Malachy (Mweenish Best Mate) was two years old on 28 February 2004. Up till then he had experienced only two Christmasses in his short life and, other than the usual festive stuff, Christmas for the bold Malachy meant just one thing; a leg in plaster!

Christmas 2002 was his first with us, Mick and Chris McDonagh, at our home in London, and our 10 month old puppy managed to pull a tendon in his back leg when he fell over in the woods. This resulted in six weeks with what resembled a ski-boot on his back leg - a big padded plaster bound up with silver gaffer tape that he dragged through the wet and snow.

Christmas 2003 saw Malachy, now almost fully grown, go one better. This is the tale of that 2003 Christmas and its aftermath.

We rented a cottage in Bucks Mills, Devon for Christmas, to enjoy being in the country and to go on long walks with Malachy. We chose Bucks Mills because my wife, Chris, and I spent our very first Christmas together there back in 1970. My brother Tony, who lives in San Francisco, decided to come over to join us. It was to be an idyllic break for us all.

The first two days in the cottage Chris and I prepared for Christmas, collected my brother from Bideford railway station, and went on a couple of short walks round the gardens and to the beach. Malachy was in his element - splashing in the streams and running into the sea like a perfect Irish Water Spaniel. We looked forward to the rest of the holiday.

On the morning of Christmas Eve we set out on our first proper walk, choosing the coastal path from Bucks Mills to Clovelly. From Bucks Mills the path works its way up through woods, runs parallel to the cliffs for some distance then turns inland, where it connects with the zig-zag "Hobby Drive" that runs round the valley, through some pheasant rearing areas until it reaches the chocolate-box picturesque village of Clovelly.

The four-mile walk was wonderful, despite the weather not being great. Once we cleared the more dangerous parts of the path, Malachy was let off-lead and had the time of his life running free. He encountered sheep for the first time and was more concerned with eating their droppings than bothering them - excellent! We put him back on-lead through the pheasant rearing areas, because literally hundreds of young pheasant poults scuttled to and fro across the path on all sides of us, driving him demented. Back off-lead he would go and explore the thickets, emerging back on the path 30 yards or so ahead. In general he was very good, returning to the whistle if called.

We arrived at Clovelly, which looked particularly pretty with all its Christmas decorations, and enjoyed Cornish pasties in the pub for lunch (Malachy relishing a taste of Guinness). We did contemplate walking back along the beach, but decided against it because although the tide was out, we weren't sure what time it was due to turn. So we set off from the village up the steep climb, back to the track on the cliffs to return the way we had come.

By about 3.30 we were all feeling a little weary and, as the dull winter afternoon was drawing in, we were moving purposefully towards the vision of relaxing with a nice drink in front of the log fire back at the cottage. We were only about a mile from Bucks Mills, at a point where it seemed safe to let Malachy off the lead again. the path leading inland through a field. Alongside the path was a barbed wire fence lining a very thick hedge, behind which were dense woods and undergrowth. There was no sea view at this point and our feeling was that we were about half a mile inland.

Malachy was still full of energy - running between us and exploring. As we were now about 2 miles past the area with the pheasants, we were all startled when one suddenly popped up right in front of Malachy and bolted towards the hedge, where there was a small gap. The pheasant shot through the gap, followed at great speed by Malachy. Initially we weren't bothered about him disappearing, because the pheasant took flight beyond the hedge and we expected Malachy to pop out of the undergrowth a few yards further up, as he had been doing all day.

However, this time he didn't reappear, and we became anxious when he didn't respond to the whistle. Worse, we couldn't hear him crashing about in the brambles. After a few minutes we were starting to get alarmed, fearing he may be lost in the woods the other side of the fence. I decided to go in after him, clambering over the barbed wire, through the hedge into the wood on the other side. Brambles grew really thick here and it was hard to get through. The wood was just a mass of undergrowth, with what seemed like a gorge created where the land had eroded and slipped away. I could not really see beyond the undergrowth at that point, so worked my way along to where the slope was getting quite steep. There was no sight or sound of Malachy, and I had a terrible sense that something was very wrong.

A little further on there was a drop, a small cliff that looked as if the land had just dropped away at some time. By holding on to a tree and leaning over I could make out a grassy ledge about 30 feet below. The ledge was about six foot wide and maybe fifty feet long, but because of all the brambles I could see little else. I continued to blow frantically on the whistle. At first nothing, then suddenly I was delighted to see Malachy on the ledge below, running back and forth in panic trying to work out the direction of my call. I was so worried about what was beyond the ledge that I just yelled at him to "sit". He was very agitated and although he didn't "sit", he did stop running and more or less stayed put.

I was exceedingly relieved to have found him and to see he was moving on all four legs. But I was really scared he would put himself in more danger if I did not get to him quickly. I know you're supposed to stay put and call out the experts in a situation like this, but the afternoon was drawing in fast, the light was going and we were in such an isolated place that I felt it would take too long. It would be pitch dark by the time anyone arrived and by then he might well have gone over the edge. So, bugger "Health and Safety" assessments, my dog was in danger and I was going to help him myself!

I shouted back to my wife and brother that Malachy seemed all right. Tony started scrambling through the thicket to offer me assistance while Chris, my wife, went to look for help. The first problem was how to get down to Malachy's level. As a student, I'd done a bit of rock climbing and even attended a couple of mountain courses - but that was all a long time ago. I worked my way along the edge, hoping it would turn from a broken rock-edge to more of a grassy slippery slope but at that point it didn't. I had no choice but to go down the hard way - over the rocks. While waiting for Tony, I edged my way over the side of the cliff and managed to get a foothold on a small ledge where a tree was growing out of the rock. It was wet, slippery and all the exposed rock started crumbling away as soon as you touched it. I tied one end of Malachy's lead to the tree. Luckily it was an extra-long lead, so I had a good few feet of lead to hang onto. I then worked my way down below the tree as far as I could, very slowly and holding tightly onto the lead. Eventually at the end of the lead, and at full arms' length, I just had to let go and hope ...I only got a few feet further down before my foothold just fell away, so I slipped, slithered and crashed to join Malachy on his grass terrace.

He was very, very pleased to see me, but my feelings towards him are unprintable, because I sat there feeling like a pin-cushion - full of splinters, filthy dirty and with my clothing torn by the rocks.

I was so relieved Malachy was walking and seemingly unhurt that I did not pay him much attention. My priority was to get him back up the cliff face. Such was the tension of the moment that I was not kind to Malachy nor to my poor elder brother, who had now reached the top of the 'cliff' 30 feet above us.

I urged Tony to get down to where I'd tied the lead and then to try to climb down a bit further so he could lower the lead down to me. Understandably for a guy in his mid sixties, he was reluctant. I recall much unsympathetic shouting, lots of swearing and plenty of references to 'girls blouses' and the like before my brother forced himself to struggle down as far as Malachy's lead, untie it and extend it down to us by fastening the lead to his own belt and anorak cord.

That was the best he could do, and I still couldn't reach the end of lead. There was no option but to climb up lifting 30 kilos of wet wriggling Irish Water Spaniel, holding Malachy between my stomach and the cliff. It was quickly obvious that rock-climbing is not one of the skills in the Water Spaniel gene pool. Swimming, yes! Climbing - errr, no! Malachy went into catatonic, helpless mode. He refused to put a paw forward to help in any way, so I was now swearing in stereo at both my dog and my brother.

Very, very slowly and with enormous effort we inched our way upwards, hanging on to clumps of grass, grasping at brambles and loose crumbling rock. It seemed to take ages and, once off the ground, was quite scary - I was certain that we would both fall. Malachy clearly thought I was mad and wanted no part in this new game. Worse, he started to panic, trying to escape. Eventually we struggled high enough to reach the end of the extended lead and I managed to hook the leadclip to his collar. I shoved, Tony pulled and eventually a much-throttled, traumatised dog was dragged safely to the top. Dog safe! Mission accomplished! I promptly lost my hold and fell, slithering back down onto the grassy terrace, the skin on my hands and my forehead my only brake.

After a couple more false starts and falls, I did make it back up to join Tony and found a much relieved Chris in the field. I was now wearing a bloody 'crown of thorns' across my forehead more appropriate to Easter than Christmas, and Malachy was holding up his front leg. I wondered if I'd damaged it man-handling him up the cliff face? By then it was almost pitch dark and we still had a mile to walk, through woods, so we set off. I tried to carry Malachy who was limping badly, but his 30 kilos on top of my own exhaustion from the rescue made it impossible. He didn't seem to have broken anything and, as he was capable of moving on his own - albeit slowly, we let him walk back to the cottage.

Relieved and exhausted we all had a stiff drink when we got in, and then saw that Malachy's front left leg was swelling like a balloon and he was obviously very distressed.

The nearest Vet was the Torbridge Veterinary Hospital in Bideford a few miles away. Before leaving we phoned Nick Waters to check the name of the antibiotics that Water Spaniels shouldn't receive, then set off for the hospital. The staff there were just fantastic and could not have been more helpful. As it was Christmas Eve they were officially closed, but kindly retrieved a vet from the pub, who opened up the x-ray theatre for Malachy, who was sedated and x-rayed to reveal that nothing was actually broken but he had bad ligament damage. They set the leg in plaster and we got back to the cottage just before the midnight chimes greeted Christmas Day!

On Christmas Day we had time to reflect on it all and see something of the funny side. There was I, roaring at my brother to get closer to the edge, having completely forgotten that some years before he had fallen off a cliff in San Francisco, puncturing his lung and breaking ribs and an ankle in the process. With deep humility I retracted the "girl's blouse" reference and told him I understood his reticence to undergo a repeat performance. I admitted I could not have got Malachy up without his help and the loan of his belt, and I thanked him for what he did, which I belatedly realised took a great deal of courage.

By Christmas night Malachy was not in good shape, he was growling and snarling if we went near him and it became clear that the plaster was causing him pain. In fact his paw was swelling to several times the size of his other paw and was bulging out of the bottom of the cast. On Boxing Day we returned to the hospital and had the cast cut off, reset and padded. This time it was put back in two halves so it could be changed weekly.

We hoped that the damage would heal with six weeks in a cast and keeping Malachy quiet for that time. Unfortunately, in spite of our best nursing efforts and excellent veterinary care (including a couple more emergency weekend vet visits to ease too-tight casts), it was obvious that all was not right. Malachy was referred to the Royal Veterinary College in Potters Bar.

He went there in February 2004. They decided to operate on his "rupture of the medial collateral ligament of the left carpal joint with a chip fracture" to repair and stabilise the joint with nylon implants. Malachy was in hospital for 6 days, and then had to be kept quiet and contained for 5 more weeks of recuperation. He was in a full cast for the first weeks, then a half cast, then a padded bandage. We borrowed a cage from Liz Brown to stop his new game of jumping clean over the sofa with the cast in tow!

One of the biggest problems in dealing with a dog in plaster, especially in winter, is keeping the plaster clean and dry. We tried everything. The first vet sold us a boot that laced up. It was useless and fell off, so we amended it with Velcro but it was still a fiddle. I then bought a second-hand leather jacket from a charity shop, cut off one sleeve and fashioned a leather boot from the sleeve. This worked to a degree but was awkward and not quick to fit. Chris then made a more flexible version from an oiled fabric tablecloth, fitting it with Velcro. This worked for a while but wore through in the end. Eventually Chris found what we were looking for online - ‘Pro-Active Paws’ Dog Boots from www.dogbootsactive.com based in Ireland. Brilliant, fitted dogboots with hide soles and bodies made from a Gortex type fabric with Velcro ties, made-to-measure and delivered within 3- 4 days. A pair is approx. 37 Euros and, unlike most of the other boots we tried, these are quick & easy to fit and they stay up. Over the course of Malachy’s treatment we bought three sets depending on the size of dressing they were to cover. We can’t recommend these boots highly enough - they made life so much easier especially in the snow and wet.

By mid-April 2004 all Malachy’s dressings were removed, but the leg was still swollen and he still limped at both walk and trot. We were warned that it was likely that the carpus would have to be fixed permanently. He was put on Rimadyl (painkiller) and Cosequin (glucosomine). We were glad to see him without a plaster but very concerned that after all this time the treatment may not have worked. We started a programme of 5-10 minute walks to build up the strength in the injured leg.

By the beginning of May his consultant at The Queen Mother Hospital for Animals was very pleased to report on his progress, “sound at walk, mild lameness at faster gait”, so we increased his lead-walking recuperation programme and continued adding supplements of gluocosomine and cod liver oil to his food.

Finally, on 29 May, a little ahead of schedule, we let Malachy off the lead for the first time since Christmas. We chose the sandy beach at West Wittering, where we felt he was less likely to damage himself. We were delighted to see him cavorting in the sea like a 'proper' dog again. His leg did not seem to be giving him any trouble, so we continued building on his exercise regime. Now, 6 months on, although he does not have complete flexibility of the joint, he looks just fine. In fact at his final visit to the hospital in June 2004 the vet had to ask "which leg did I do?", before discharging him. That summer he was back at his favourite 'game' - retrieving ducks from the water (although in Malachy's case the ducks are the plastic yellow bathtime variety!)

Looking back it seemed like a very long haul through a bad winter, but we are so pleased that he is now fully recovered. We are planning a quiet Christmas this year and a rapid renewal of the insurance policy! With an Irish Water Spaniel like Malachy who knows what surprises he has in store for us?

Malachy is now 5 years old. He is a fantastic dog with a wonderful temperament, who accompanies me to work every day. He loves running around the woods and swimming, especially on trips to Ireland where he swims miles out in Bantry Bay. You won't see him in the showring, but he is a regular on the Irish Water Spaniel breed stand at Discover Dogs in London, where he's unfazed by the constant stream of admirers pulling and touching his curls, and where he entertains children by catching treats in his mouth. In 2006 he and I were proud to represent the breed in the Parade of Vulnerable Breeds in the main ring.

His kamikaze leap does not seem to have left any mark on his psyche - in general he is as happy, healthy and content as any dog could be.