The Night I Tried to Save My Dog

Please don’t call the RSPCA. My dog Misha is okay. In spite of what happened.

It all started when I opened a parcel and a few of those packing cylinders fell onto the floor. Quick as a flash, Misha leaps from her bed and steals one. I grab a treat, order her to drop it, but she doesn’t. Nothing is spat out.

To my horror, she begins to look uncomfortable. Something is wrong. She’s clearly swallowed it, and now it’s lodged in her throat.

It’s 11pm, of course. No help is around. I’m convinced my precious little dog is going to choke to death.

I grab her and prise open her mouth. I ram my whole fist down her throat, my fingers searching for that little cylinder. I feel something, try to yank it out, but suspect I’ve pushed it further down. I try again. However Misha struggles free from my grip and escapes to the far side of the room.

I watch her. Terrified. Expecting her to start choking. She watches me from a distance, absolutely petrified. Of me. She’s gagging occasionally. I realise my hand is bleeding profusely. I approach her, but she speeds away.

There’s nothing I can do. I sit on the floor, waiting. Time passes. Her gagging becomes less frequent.

Gradually I realise that she’s not going to choke. She’s going to be okay. I start to cry with relief. Very slowly and hesitantly, Misha comes over to me. I hug her and she begins to lick me. She seems absolutely fine.

The next afternoon I discover my mistake. What I thought was a polystyrene cylinder was actually a packing peanut made from plant starch. No wonder she hadn’t dropped it. No wonder she’d been acting strangely – it was dissolving in her mouth.

Misha had never been in danger.

Except from me.

I’m grateful that my little dog was so quick to forgive me. It will still be a little while longer before I can forgive myself.