Lindy Kato (Writer)

Our old girl Kimba was depressed after the death of the elderly dog (Shah) that we adopted. Shar was supposed to have a few weeks left but lasted an entire year. Kimba needed a new friend, and we ended up with two pups, Nudge, and Indy. Nudge calls me ‘Fruit Salad’ because I go into a glass box every day and come out smelling of peach and coconut body wash and strawberry shampoo. Stan is just ‘All-of-Everything’ to Nudge. Sorry, this will have to be part one, because it got too long. Nudge will pick up the story.

Indy is lying on my herb garden. She knows it is my special place and she shouldn’t be there! She shrieks and leaps into the air. I bet she has been stung – serves her right! Fruit Salad and All-of-Everything are making such a fuss of her and she is limping. I just know that she will limp all day. Never mind, I have my spot back.

Indy is making the most of this, she is such a drama queen. I get on with the serious job of inhaling the herbs and rolling about in the sun.
The next day Miss Drama Queen is still limping, and the next and the next and so Fruit Salad calls the vet.

He has taken a special photo of her knee and there is nothing wrong with it…but she is still limping and howling, and Fruit Salad is still fussing over her, and they don’t notice me. Indy is still hurt, and our vet can’t find out why. He sends the special photos to a vet Surgeon.

At least we are both going to the surgery because I can’t be trusted at home with Kimba (Fruit Salad is referring to the Thread Bear incident). I love the car yippee I love the car… Indy keeps wailing and now we have been in the car for too long, I want to stretch out and I want to pee.

“Stop Fruit Salad, stop,” she goes deaf when she is driving so I have to bark louder but at last we stop and I squat for a pee right outside the car. Fruit Salad makes us all walk around the block, and we go in the strangest building for Fruit Salad because she doesn’t know how to squat, and she is fussy about where she pees.

I can’t believe she is making us get back in the car. I hate cars I am bored with cars, but in the end, we turn and drive slowly along a tree-lined driveway, I love trees. Fruit Salad carries Indy to the Surgeon and is straight back.
Then it is second breakfast; I love second breakfast. We sit at the café until it really isn’t polite to stay any longer, and at last Fruit Salad takes us back to the surgery. She leaves the car, and comes back gently carrying a limp Indy.
Fruit Salad has wet eyes. She is talking to the phone again “Indy has been in pain all her life, her pelvis will be broken in three places, twisted and a plate put in so that the ball of the hip fits in the cup. The ball is damaged, but the cup is deep enough. It must be done next week. How will we pay for it?”
Well at least she has me. I am the special dog. The only plate I know about is a dinner plate. I love dinner.

Operation triple pelvic osteotomy
Yes really! That is what it is called. We are bundled up in the car still asleep and no breakfast. I hate no breakfast. Soon we turn up the tree-lined driveway. I like trees. Fruit Salad dumps Indy with the Surgeon and luckily, she has not forgotten breakfast. The vet surgery is right near a different café – I have been here before. I like it here. I have water and biscuits. Fruit Salad has cake and coffee. The wait-lady rubs my belly. I love a belly rub. 
Fruit Salad is not hanging about; she wants to go – but I can’t move. A searing pain shoots through my left butt cheek. She tries dragging me, I am not being awkward – I can’t stand up. The café staff are rolling and dragging me to the car. Fruit Salad hoofs me into the passenger well as if I were a large ball. I flop there about to cry. We drive home in silence. I don’t know what Fruit Salad is thinking. 

A long journey, no pee stops and by the time we get there some feeling has come back. I stagger and stumble from the car to the house and collapse on my comfortable bed. Fruit Salad brings a blanket. I get as close to her as I can; her eyes are wet. I miss Indy already and I am suddenly scared for her. I bark and cry and bark and cry for the rest of the day. I bravely eat my dinner and at bedtime I snuggle up with Fruit Salad so that she doesn’t feel so alone and so scared. We can’t sleep. I cry until the sun comes up by which time Fruit Salad has nodded off. 
Indy should be at the surgery for two days. But now the phone is saying that she can’t stay, she won’t shut up, and she will jump out of the recovery kennel. We must go and get her. Fruit Salad isn’t properly awake and not in a good shape to drive. 
We go through the same routine, same pee stop, but I can’t get in or out of the car. I cry every-time I try and move. Fruit Salad rolls me out, I can’t even squat to pee. Everyone always laughs at a boy dog that squats to pee, I have never been able to lift either leg. Now I just stand there and piddle down my leg. 
We can hear Indy before we get there – I know why the Surgeon doesn’t want her! Fruit Salad leaves me in the car and disappears. I don’t like it when she leaves me. She left Indy and see what happened!

She is gone a long time.  How happy I am to see her coming but she doesn’t have Indy. Fruit Salad and the Surgeon carry me into a giant-sized cage, I must get on the bed. It smells bad but I want to be a Good Boy. The nasty Surgeon sticks a needle in my neck with a slick switch of the wrist. I didn’t see it coming, I shouldn’t be here, I want to get back in the car. He says that Fruit Salad can go but she won’t leave, she holds my paw and the giant cage swirls around, I feel sick and now it has gone dark.

In the distance I can hear Indy yelping, close by Fruit Salad is sobbing. My mind is full of cotton wool – I am fading in and out. I have a tube down my throat, I am not sure that I am breathing. I hear the Surgeon…”you have to let this dog go; he is the worst I have ever seen.” Everything goes black again.