It's Hardly Brain Surgery

It’s Hardly Brain Surgery

“It’s not like it’s brain surgery,” Brian huffed as he handed Janet the new nail clippers he had bought at the pet store. “I’m sure it’s no different than cutting our own nails and it’s certainly not worth paying for a visit to the vet.”

“If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?” Janet was still refusing to take possession of the red-handled clippers with the nasty guillotine edge.

“Because it’s not my dog.” Janet had to raise her eyebrows at that. Sinbad, the dog, spent most evenings sprawled on the couch next to Brian as they shared a packet of crisps, or whatever snack was to hand. “Technically, it’s your dog,” her partner insisted. She crossed her arms and scowled at him. “Ok, we dog share and today is your day to own the dog.”

“Coward,” Janet said accusingly. “Fine. I’ll do it but you have to hold him.” Brian gave her a look of horror. “He’s not going to hold still Brian. You have to restrain him while I do the nails.” She grabbed the clippers out of his hands. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Using a large piece of cheese, they coaxed Sinbad into the kitchen, where they planned to do the operation. Sinbad sensed something was up and tried to dart out of the room as soon as he finished his cheese. Brian shut the kitchen door just in time, apologizing to the dog and offering him another piece of cheese. Then he knelt next to the greyhound, a beast that was more legs than body. Sinbad stuck his pointed nose into his owner’s armpit, trying to hide from the ordeal ahead. Brian stroked the sleek hide and promised Sinbad that it would be over soon and it wouldn’t hurt as long as Janet was careful. “Thanks a lot,” she hissed, “make me the bad guy.”

She also knelt down, in front of Sinbad and lifted his front leg, gone stiff with anxiety. “Could you maybe hold the leg, Brian? Then I can concentrate on the foot.” Brian clutched the shaking dog to his chest and reached around to support the foreleg.

“Is that good enough?” Janet nodded, focusing on the paw in front of her and the black nails protruding. Where was she supposed to cut? She knew if she clipped off too much nail, she would hit the quick and the dog would bleed. More importantly, it would hurt and Sinbad would never forgive her. Slowly, she moved the clippers towards the first nail, Sinbad tried to pull his paw away.

“I said hold him, Brian!”

“I am!”

“Well, hold him tighter. If he moves while I’m doing this, I might hurt him.”

“If I hold him too tightly, I could break his leg.”

“He’s not that fragile!” They faced off, staring each other down. Meanwhile, Sinbad whimpered.

Janet took a deep breath. “Ok, I’m going to try again. Please just hold him still.”

She gripped the paw firmly and slivered off a tiny bit of nail. Sinbad squeaked and she jumped back in horror. “Did I hurt you baby?”

Now it was Brian’s turn to accuse her of cowardice. “You took off like 0.0001 of millimetre. He’s crying because I’m being forced to hold him too hard. Could you actually cut the nails so I can let the poor dog go? I’m probably cutting off his circulation at this point.”

“Fine!” Again, she gripped the paw and this time bravely cut the nail in half. Sinbad screeched and blood began to gush out onto the kitchen floor.

“Oh my God!” Janet reached for the dog’s foot, to see what she had done when Sinbad nipped her.

“What have you done? He’s bleeding to death!” Brian roared as he lost control of the dog.

“I cut his nails, like you told me to do. Why did you make me do this? Why couldn’t we have gone to the vet?”

Brian gestured at the pattern of blood on the kitchen floor and across the cabinets. “Well, we’re going to have to go to the vet now, aren’t we?”

“And the doctor. Look, he bit me!”

Barely glancing at Janet’s bleeding hand, Brian turned to Sinbad. “Here boy, come here. Let me see what we can do. Janet, go get a towel or something to apply pressure. Do we have any bandaging material?”

She handed him a tea towel. “The first aid kit is upstairs.” She went to the kitchen door as Brian tried to corral Sinbad but the dog had other ideas. As soon as the door opened, he shot through into the lounge, where he ran around the carpet, dripping blood copiously.

“Now look what you’ve done!” Brian complained as he rushed after Sinbad. The frightened dog jumped up on the sofa, flicking red droplets across the upholstery and then charged up the stairs, creating a trail of blood as he went. Reaching the bedroom, Sinbad dived under the duvet and settled onto the clean, white sheets, rapidly staining both the sheets and the mattress beneath it.

 Brian sat down next to the bed and began talking to the dog. “I’m really sorry Sinbad. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We need you to come out now. Please? We need to take you to the V.E.T.”

Janet, in the on suite, washing her own wound, snorted. “I don’t think it matters if you spell it or say it at this point.” She rubbed disinfectant cream over the bite marks and placed a light dressing on her hand. Then she went downstairs, taking in the crime scene. There was blood everywhere, a puddle on the landing where Sinbad had paused before taking refuge in the bedroom. Blood was spattered down the stairs and into the lounge, where it looked like someone had sneezed blood over the sofa and rug. The kitchen looked like a prison wall after a firing squad had been at work. She sighed and got Sinbad’s lead. By reaching under the duvet, they were able to lasso Sinbad and haul him off the bed. At that point, the bleeding had subsided but they decided it was best to get him seen at the vet’s in case he started to bleed again. Brian carried Sinbad down the stairs and out to the car. He rang the surgery while Janet drove, explaining that their dog had been injured and was bleeding. His description of the carnage allowed them to get an emergency appointment.

Of course, Sinbad refused to walk into the V.E.T. so Brian had to carry him, making the dog look truly incapacitated.  The alarmed receptionist shouted that the emergency had arrived and a nurse came rushing into the reception area. “Bring him right into the consult room and let me have a look,” the nurse urged them.

The shivering dog was placed on the floor of the consult room and cowered in the corner.

“Where is the injury?” the nurse queried with a puzzled expression.

“His foot, there,” Brian indicated. The nurse got down on her knees and looked at Sinbad’s foot, picking it up and examining the pad.

“There’s no cut,” she said, eyeing the anxious owners.

“It’s his nail,” Janet confessed. “I cut it too short. It seems to have stopped bleeding now. Sorry. There was so much blood at home.”

The nurse smiled. “Yeah, they can bleed like pigs, but it stops as soon as the dog calms down. If you put a cold compress on it, it helps stop the bleeding. Or you can get special styptic pencils.”

“I am never, ever, going to cut his nails again,” Janet declared. She shot a glance at Brian. “And after the cleaning bill, a visit to the vet for a nail clip is hardly going to be significant.”

Brian had the good grace to look embarrassed.

“I see,” the nurse got up and went to a drawer to get out a pair of nail clippers. “Do you want to hold him or shall I ask a kennel assistant to come help?”

“I’ll hold him,” Brian whispered. The nurse crouched in front of Sinbad.

“Are you going to be a good boy or do you need a muzzle?”

“A muzzle,” Janet offered, waving her bandaged hand. The nurse nodded and got up to retrieve a plastic basket which she placed over Sinbad’s nose.

“Ok,” she said brightly, picking up the paw and snipping away. Sinbad struggled a bit but Brian reassured his dog while holding him tight. Clip, clip – both front paws. Motioning for Brian to turn the dog, the nurse efficiently trimmed the hind feet as well. Then she stood up. “All done! You can pay at reception on your way out.”

Janet stood amazed. “You were so quick. And none of them bled. You can’t even see where to cut them but none of them bled.”

“Well, it’s hardly brain surgery, is it?” said the nurse.