Chapter 49 - HEATHER
HEATHER
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[EXTRACT FROM HEATHER’S LOG NOTES]
I walk over to Turbo. He usually hangs around the front of his cage, tail wagging, always so pleased to see me. Today, however, he’s curled up at the back of his cage. I call him and his ears prick, but he doesn’t move.
I continue calling him and finally, he gets to his feet and totters slowly to the front of his cage.
“Hey, boy,” I whisper. “You’re not feeling too good, are you?”
Turbo stretches out so I can stroke his tummy, pressing his body against the bars of the cage.
He whimpers with each stroke, whether from pleasure or discomfort I can’t tell, but when I withdraw my hand he whines so I continue to stroke him, even if it hurts, because he seems to prefer contact with pain rather than no contact at all.
I comfort him as best as I can, but I know if I linger too long I’ll arouse Glen’s suspicions.
I check on the low-dose dogs. Apart from some diarrhea, they seem to be coping with the test material okay. The only dogs in good health are the control dogs. The biggest issue they have to contend with is boredom.
I walk over to the cages of the six high-dose dogs. I deliberately left them until last, knowing how difficult it will be to look at them. Their breathing is rapid and shallow, their bodies visibly shaking. Foamy vomit and diarrhea are splattered all over their cages. They look so miserable.
I murmur soothingly to them, but they don’t respond, lost in their misery. As instructed, I record all clinical signs in the obs book and then clean their cages as carefully as I can.
Glen enters the room and joins me in front of the cages of the high-dose dogs. “That stuff is really hitting them.”
“Should I put in a vet request?”
He shakes his head. “The sponsor doesn’t want us treating them.”
I say nothing. What is there to say?
“Time to dose them,” Glen says. “The high-dose dogs wouldn’t eat yesterday so the capsules had to be forced down their throats.”
We place the capsules in the food and mix it all up. The low-dose and control dogs eat everything. With a bit of coaxing, the mid-dose dogs also manage to get their food and capsules down.
None of the high-dose dogs will touch their food.
Glen sighs. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this. We’ll have to force the capsules down again.”
Opening one cage, he tries calling the dog, but she retreats to the back of the cage.
He drags her forward and she yelps the entire way, digging her feet into the cage grate.
I try to hold her as gently as I can while Glen gets the capsule down her throat.
She squirms and gags, but she’s so weak her struggles are halfhearted.
We put her back in her cage and finish dosing the other five dogs.
Before I leave the room, I sneak a last look at Turbo, but he has his back to me and doesn’t look up or acknowledge my leaving.