Sylvia's Diary 24-04-25

Saturday – Lie-in Day (Sort of)

Today was meant to be a rare lie-in day. No vets working, no dogs booked in or out, earliest staff starting at 8 a.m., a small Saturday miracle. Lie in days for me mean getting up as late as 6 rather than four onwards. These days don’t happen often, and when they do, they’re usually broken. Just like this one.

At 4:30 a.m., I was wide awake. Not because of an alarm, but because my mind wouldn’t stop spinning. Two calls had already come through, one needing action straight away, the other could wait, but still pressed on my thoughts. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering when I might catch that elusive lucky break. One long, uninterrupted sleep. Just one.

Eventually, I got up, too early, too tired, and of course woke every dog in the house. Bill stirred too, resigned to our chaotic mornings. I rushed down to check on Shine, the tiny puppy I’m co-raising with her mum. I visit twice in the night once in the early hours to top her up via a tube into her tiny belly. She’s still so fragile, still on the edge, but holding her own. That part of the day, at least, was as expected. Then my phone pinged.

A six-week-old puppy. Dying. Without urgent help, she wouldn’t last. She has an incredibly rare condition, an imperforate anus. There’s no opening for her to pass waste, so it leaks through the same orifice she urinates from. It’s fatal. She only has a narrow window, maybe two more weeks, before it’s too late. Very few vets have ever attempted the surgery she needs. I didn’t want someone “having a go”, I needed someone who’d done it, and had done it successfully.

I hit the phones and started digging. Then I called Louise from War Paws, she’s my go-to when something’s out of the ordinary. Louise is a walking vet directory with a heart of gold. She got in touch with a brilliant vet I’d used years ago, one whose skills are renowned globally. And miracle of miracles he said he might come to Many Tears to do the surgery as a special kindness.

I could’ve cried.

This isn’t just about money. It’s about expertise and timing. This golden retriever puppy, who I only found out was a golden later in the call comes from well-loved, carefully bred parents. But nature had its own plan. And thank God her owners didn’t just give up and euthanize her, they chose to fight for her life. To call around for help, and one who they called, called us.

No sooner had I caught my breath than another challenge rolled in. A kind man had come to adopt one of our ex-breeder dogs. Quiet, shut down, having lived her whole life surrounded by other dogs. But she showed no interest in him, and we all knew it wasn’t a match. It was heartbreaking, watching the hope on his face fade as she returned to the kennels, her head hanging low having all but given up. We will look for the right match for the prospective adopter.

But fate had other plans for our ex-breeder. As she passed another family, people who had lost two dogs in recent months, something clicked. One of their late dogs looked just like her. They were already adopting another dog, but they asked to meet her anyway. To see if their existing dog likes this new face too. We brought her back up… and this time, it was magic. They left with three dogs. One of their own, a charming steady lab full of love, our lab who had been so brave over the months enduring a complicated operation on one of her ears. And the shutdown retriever. Two new members to their family. That hardly ever happens. But when something feels that right, we don’t question it, we just make it happen.

By now, the rain had stopped. I tube-fed Shine and tried to get back to what I’d planned to start at 8 a.m. Dogs were adopted, people were shown around, volunteers ran about helping, and the day flew past me like a freight train.

Right now, I could curl up in a corner and wish I could sleep for a week. But there’s still so much to do. Always so much to do.

Sleepless in Spiderland

Why does this keep happening to me? Honestly, maybe I shouldn’t even mention that I’m not getting any sleep. But here we are, again. Last night was one of those sleeps. You know the type: so exhausted that you dribble out the corner of your mouth and wake up with saliva in your ear.

Anyway, I was deep in the land of drooly dreams when the phone rang. It was still early, only 8:30 p.m., and someone on the other end wanted to surrender… wait for it… six guinea pigs. GUINEA PIGS. I mean, come on. I’m not used to this ever-growing Noah’s Ark of random animals being phoned in. And while guinea pigs aren’t particularly odd, we don’t exactly have hutches lying around. I can’t stand cage animals. It’s not the animals I have a problem with, it’s the cages. Life behind bars just doesn’t seem right, unless you’re a career criminal. In the wild, guinea pigs would be frolicking in the underbrush, dodging snakes and hawks and living their best panicked little lives. Yes, it’s stressful, but at least it’s free.

But I said yes. Of course I said yes. The people had tried everything and were desperate. So now we’ve got six guinea pigs moving into the cattery, where they’ll have room to roam, proper food, and no tiny prison cells. The only problem now? Finding a home that meets my standards because I refuse to let them go to a tiny cage. .

Back to bed and I went out like a light. A whole hour of glorious unconsciousness later, ring ring! The phone again. This time it was later, and I picked up groggily. “Can you take our pet Jeremy?” they asked, giggling.

Now, when people laugh before revealing what kind of animal Jeremy is, you know it’s going to be something unholy. My mind raced, an enormous dog? A teacup chihuahua? A gerbil with anger issues? Nope. “Please don’t laugh,” they said, “but Jeremy is our pet tarantula.”

A tarantula!!!!

Apparently, Jeremy the spider lives in student accommodation where he is not exactly welcome. “He’s very sweet,” they said…. SWEET! I lived in Arizona; I’ve seen tarantulas in the wild. They scuttle, they squeak like a scared mouse  (yes, they do!), and they run like they’ve got a hot date with death. I’ve had one on my hand once, and I wouldn’t call it sweet, I’d call it a full-blown panic attack with legs.

Still, poor Jeremy doesn’t have many options here in the UK. He can’t exactly hitchhike back to Arizona and live free among the cacti. He’s stuck being a living prop to impress drunk students. So yes, I agreed to take him too, but I did call around this morning and found him a more suitable home. One that isn’t me.

Meanwhile, last night was full of arachnid dreams, and I woke up convinced something was crawling over my face. I might have screamed. Okay I probably screamed. Turned out it was Frankly one of the many dogs who sleeps with us, or on us. Frankley really feels it’s his duty to watch over Bill and I at night, and I mean REALLY watch over us, like he’s about 5 inches from us all night, wedging himself between us for maximum viewing, warmth and attention. Wagging his tail because he sleeps on top of my head like a furry hat

So now I face a brand new day with absolutely no enthusiasm, zero energy, and the fragile hope that something will come along and light a fire under me. Preferably not one involving spiders. Or drool. Or spider drool. That’s where I draw the line.

The nights are drawing in now, the sun’s packed up and gone home, and suddenly it’s freezing out there. I’m waiting on the arrival of yet another animal and nodding off in the chair, only to be startled awake by the phone. Someone’s worried about their panting dog.

Earlier, three police officers turned up with a stray Chihuahua cross. Now, technically, police aren’t responsible for strays anymore. Apparently, they’re expected to leave animals wandering about, ideally not on the motorway, not causing accidents, and preferably not dashing into livestock or humans. But, as it turns out, police officers are still human too. Many love dogs and can’t just abandon them, so they scoop them up…and then realise they’ve nowhere to take them. Here’s the real kicker: councils will only deal with strays if the dog thoughtfully chooses to wander between Monday and Friday, between the civilised hours of 10am and 4pm. Weekends? Nope. Bank holidays? Don’t even think about it. Christmas? Absolutely not. (Do pass that on to your dog, won’t you?)

So, these poor officers, who’ve done the kind thing, end up phoning around hoping someone, anyone will help. The big shiny rescues? No use in an emergency. No one even answers a phone. And so, down it comes to me, my little one-person band and my dinky dink emergency line. Ridiculous really. OH, and no, the council doesn’t even equip police with a microchip scanner. Because why would they?

Then came a strange drop-off. A family arrived, saying they were doing “a favour for someone else” and could I take two dogs? They claimed not to know them, though, oddly, they’d brought them in the back of the car, loose, alongside three toddlers and a bull breed pup. Casual. One dog was chipped to a woman whose website claims to run a bull breed fertility clinic or something vaguely official sounding. The other? Chipped to no one. We needed permission from the chip contact to take him, so they took that one back “to sort out.” The Great Dane stayed. She’s a huge, gentle, anxious creature. Clearly adored the man who said he didn’t know her. She’s waited all day for that man, and in walks gazes around looking for him

Tomorrow, the guinea pigs are supposed to be arriving. Jeremy the tarantula has been picked up and now resides on a shelf beside a giant Sky TV screen, flanked by other exotic pets. His new people seem to know their stuff. And me? I’m off to bed. Probably with the phone tucked under one ear and a pile of blankets I’ll inevitably share with whoever turns up.

Next day I woke up at silly o'clock, dogs barking, no birds singing (they have the sense to wait till light to sing the day's praises). There is absolutely no point in pretending to be asleep because Frankly knows. Maybe my breathing pattern changed, but whatever it was, he signaled for the others who all jumped about with anticipation of going out and then later getting breakfast. I could not stop thinking of the dog that was turned away the day before. Only a few inches taller he would have been classed as an XL bully. I had to have the chip holder to release the dog, so asked the people who brought him to sort this out. This they had said they’d do, and I stupidly believed them, as I knew other rescues would not take the dog, who was called Harry. I expected them back the next day, and did call them to no avail. Then a staff member sent a picture of the same dog she believed found dumped on a local mountain. He was at the vet now. I called the vets and told them the story and said I was willing to take him, I was told he was ok, very tired, very sweet. I could not be sure he was the same dog without them scanning him. Later they called and said they did not think he was the same dog, and now was very aggressive and could not be homed. I think that means he was put to sleep. I will call to find out. If it was him, I had met him. A big kind lump of dog, if he turned it would have been out of fear. Of course, I blame myself either way for not taking him.

The Guinea pigs arrived, well-kept, well-loved little creatures. I supervised and we made them a Guinea pig paradise room, fresh food and pellets, warmth, and comfort. We will try to home them at least pairs, but only to those with good accommodation and an outside run so on the sunny days they can be taken out to graze a little and catch the rays.

I managed to snatch a 20-minute ride, I am not the rider anymore, just the passenger. After two breaks in my back and being told I can no longer ride (which I could not bear) I am just a grateful passenger. The horse I ride understands my failings, and instead of being a fiery spirited chap who, here he is well known for, seeing fairies and all sorts of invisible things, he  carries me with kind respect for the broken human. Because I am broken. 

I have been excited to have a pony coming as an extra with a cart we bought for Edith. He was said to be a loved family pet needing a great home. This I can offer, and as he drove too it was a bonus. Sadly, once here loved or not we received a scared boy with huge, and I mean huge abscess on his face, mud fever dehydration, and very underweight. In fact, the vet today said he needs to put on around 1/3 of his body weight again. The abscess partially burst, dripping a nasty cream coloured toothpaste like mess on the floor. We don’t know why he has this abscess, and the horse vet needs to come. He has won my heart, I hope he has no underlying problems that cannot be resolved.  

It was due to rain last night, and boy were they not wrong. It rained so hard that going out in the night checking on Shine and sweet Millie, an old collie that had been spayed resulted in me being soaked despite the fact I was wearing a coat, I shivered and shook, could not get warm, even in bed, and then the phone rang, and more problems came to light. Joyce is now picking up a van full of those needing urgent space today. Nothing is easy, straight forward or smooth.

The good things for the week are, we were donated money to get on with the cattery. I found second hand parts for the cattery on Facebook marketplace, which has saved thousands. And finally the sun came out.

The sad and bad. Sheyla, the Ukrainian dog we took on has a terrible bone eating disease that we can only now treat homoeopathically, because of the fact the drugs we were using were so strong they were wrecking her kidneys. And this very well may be just palliative care now. However we take each day as we can making her days fun and full of love, and at this time she seems well and happy, even if her blood tests say differently to this.

We have had in just this week a puppy with a bad heart, one that needs a specialist and around £6000 worth of life saving surgery.

We have another dog with a slipping patella,

We have the poor retriever pup needing urgent extremely specialist surgery and this puppy is a darling.

We have a Shar Pei who was given up and needed a vet weeks ago but they could not afford this. She needs help and anaesthetic to sort the problem, her foot is triple the size of the others, and so so painful.

Then two retriever pup’s who are bunny hopping around and need x-rays for hips.

This week out of the ordinary surgeries without the last two pups whose hips are bad, the cost will be over around 13-15 thousand. But what are we to say? Sorry we can only take in perfect dogs that have no physical problems?

Thank you for your support each week reading this, please remember dear Promise still awaits a home of his own.

Please remember to take a picture to send along with £3.00 per entry to enter our competition.

And please if you can help at Ardingly showground on July 5, 6, and 7 to man or help man a stall. Please let me know, I can be contacted at swvanatta@gmail.com

THANK YOU, Sylvia.