LOKI IN TROUBLE

It started out like any other pandemic day. I woke up before 6am, went downstairs, whistled for Zaffy, filled her and Loki’s bowls and prepared a breakfast tray us, which I took upstairs to share with Oswaldo while we read the latest bad news, both from Brazil and from the US. Zaffy flopped down under the moving fan and went to sleep.

Downstairs, an hour or so later, Victor too woke up and started his day, going outside to meditate on his patio, hanging upside down with feet locked on his Teeter inversion table. By then both Zaffy and Loki were exploring near him, and Victor, who normally keeps his eyes closed during this routine, opened them to discover Loki in front of him shifting a smooth oval rock around in his mouth. Shackled and unable to intervene Victor watched in horror as Loki stretched his throat and simply swallowed the rock. The 2 ½ month old baby German Shepherd, who’d just reached 12 kilos, had ingested a 2 by 3 cm rock.

I had put on my gym clothes and was tying on my sneakers when Victor came up the stairs with Loki in his arms, deposited him on the bed and said, “He swallowed a rock.” A lot of things go through your head at that moment, colored by memories of generations of dogs in distress, and your first reaction is incredulous, wishing it not to be true. “How could it be?” “Are you sure?” He was quite sure it had happened.

 

I called the vet. She’d been at our house the day before with a vaccine for Loki and a really stressful check-up for Zaffy, who’s hysterical about all things vet. She too asked, “Are you sure?” and Victor produced an image of a similar rock. “He’ll need an ultrasound as soon as possible,” she said, adding, "if we’re lucky, we can get it with an endoscopy. If not, he’ll need to operate.” 

 

My iPhone WhatsApp became a Situation Room, as our vet and I communicated back and forth trying to locate an ultrasound vet available for an urgent house call. Loki was not allowed to eat anymore. It felt as if our life had been put on hold all of a sudden. Nobody could focus on anything but this. The ultrasound vet eventually arrived, shaved Loki’s belly and proceeded to locate the rock in his stomach. Loki was now a candidate for an urgent endoscopy.

 

Long hours followed as the procedure eventually was scheduled for 5pm. Loki could no longer eat or drink anything. He too seemed subdued, and between long naps he’d get up, start to dry-heave and then stop. We watched, wishing fervently he’d vomit up the stone, but there was no such luck. We felt the burden of remembering far too many procedures with generations of beloved pets and were quite distraught with the plight of our new little baby dog. We sat around, unable to read or do anything, just willing the time to pass. Oswaldo, who’s barely left the house for more than six months, would drive Victor and Loki and wait in the car – masked. When the time came, a very puzzled Loki was placed - not without a struggle - in the towel lined box which had contained my new printer and off they went.

 

The waiting was excruciating, both for Victor, who had joined Oswaldo in the car, and for me at home with Zaffy, who’d been unusually quiet all day. Then a picture of the stone, still in Loki’s stomach appeared on my WhatsApp screen, 

“They found it!” wrote Victor, and soon after that, “They got it!!!” 

We were all exhausted when they returned home with a still groggy Loki, but he soon picked up, demanded water and food, and then proceeded to play frenetically. We felt as if he’d been left on a charger all day and now was ready to go. Sitting in the darkened garden with a much-needed glass of wine and watching the dogs run around, we were thrilled to see him so well, the only signs of his recent troubles being his shaven belly and left front paw, where the needle had been inserted during the anesthesia. 

 

He’s been with us only two and a half weeks, but yesterday it became very clear to us he is already, beyond any doubt, family.