In case you were wondering why I haven’t been in touch for a long time: I’ve been through a traumatic time and just not in the mood for writing.
You see, I noticed a pain in my left hind knee just when the weather turned cold last autumn, and being naïve, I gave it away with a slight limp. It was enough of an excuse for Mum to take me to the vet, who scratched his head a lot and put me through numerous tests before announcing that I had a lump in my knee and needed surgery to have it removed. I’m not sure what a lump is but judging by Mum and Dad’s mood when they heard, you don’t want to have one.
For my surgery, I had to stay at the vet’s for two whole days and felt quite woozy for much of that time. It must be something in the air there. When I was finally allowed home, my knee hurt way more than before and they put a horrible collar around my neck that stopped me from checking it out. It also prevented me from cleaning myself, from eating and even from lying comfortably. Worse: I had to sit in a cage, like a common hamster!
Naturally, after the first day or so, during which I was very tired and slept in spite of the horrible collar, I began to complain forcefully and to rattle my cage, which eventually had the desired effect: Mum let me out and even took the collar off so I could have a good clean of my paws – one of them had a large bare patch and tasted vile. I also really wanted to take a look at my knee, but the humans said no and watched me like hawks the whole time. Sometimes we played a game where I tested their reaction with the odd quick turn towards my poor leg, but I was always intercepted. I managed a long enough look though to see that I had no fur left on the whole of my leg, a nasty long cut and several funny bits of string sticking out of my skin. The awful discovery left me quite shaken, as you can well imagine. Mum said I wasn’t to touch the strings. The problem was, I found I wanted to touch nothing else! Only when she promised me the removal of cage and collar for good if I swore not to lick my leg did I agree to leave my wound alone, because how could I refuse such a deal?
By this amiable arrangement, we made it to the day when Mum received a call from the vet to say the lump they’d removed from my knee was not dangerous. Even before she told me, I knew by the way she skipped through the room that the news was good. And just as well, because I’d already pledged I would never, ever go back to the vet’s for more treatment.
On the promise of three Dreamies to be handed over straight after my return, I grudgingly agreed to just one more short visit. The vet told me I’d done very well – which I knew already – and, while a nice, young nurse held me tight, removed the funny strings from my wound. It didn’t hurt, and when I stole a look, I saw the cut had almost disappeared and my hair was growing back already. Relief!
On getting home, I cashed in on the Dreamies, had a good lick of my wound (now allowed) and waited at the door to be let out in the garden. To my immense dismay, I met nothing but shaking heads (they mean ‘no’ in case you didn’t know). I was not to be allowed to resume my walks and hunting expeditions for some time yet. I was gutted! It’s anyone’s guess for how long I am to be imprisoned. Humans measure time in strange, unfathomable ways and it’s no good trying to work it out. All I can say for certain is that it’s been way too long already.
I feel sure that, meanwhile, my territory has been invaded by intruders of many kinds. I spend my days sitting by the locked patio doors, watching as the birds hop about and the moles build their tunnels, undisturbed. I don’t even want to think about the bunnies happily multiplying in the field next door, or about our neighbours being overrun with rats. Because what can I do about it? When I’m not looking through the window, I sleep fitfully in sunny patches, a victim to the worst nightmares of all the appalling things going on outdoors. At night, I have to sleep with Dad who has also been evicted on account of a cold. I tell myself that each sleep is one sleep nearer to freedom, and the thought keeps me going.
My advice to all of you out there is this: try not to limp. Cover up weaknesses of any kind, because if you don’t, it’s off to the vet and you’ve seen what that leads to. I hope to be able to share happier news next time.
Yours, in suffering, Bilbo
Lead me down all the right paths,
Keep me from fleas, bees, and baths.
Let me in should it storm,
Keep me safe, fed, and warm.