The Trials of the Extraordinary Hedgehog called Gaby

 

 

Courtesy of Ginger Cat:

 

My life with Gaby became a pleasant routine, although it involved detailed medical attention because his lungs had been affected by being outside in his first winter and not hibernating as he would have been, had he attained the necessary weight. As he was born later in the year,  he could not achieve the minimum weight, and he would have perished in winter. It was a rare stroke of luck that he collapsed outside my kitchen door, and that I noticed the “something muddy” outside in the nick of time before he could have died from cold and hunger. Gaby was left with difficulty breathing and to help him, every evening I put in his room, close to the bed but on a higher level, a container with warmed Olbas oil, used for humans with a heavy cold. It contains Calpol oil, Eucalyptus oil, Juniperberry oil, Levomenthol oil, Methyl Salicylate, and Mint oil,  and having worked wonders for us, it worked for Gaby too.  During the day, we would settle in a large armchair with blankets, Gaby on my lap, and I could write on my laptop placed on the desk.  This routine was only interrupted by the necessary visits to a vet for a check-up, and to renew and buy antibiotics. Gaby’s health would be in danger without them, and as he was so happy to be alive, I had to do what the vet advised.  He ate the best cat food well, and on his “feeling poorly” days, I would pulverize the wet cat food to help with his digestion, administered with a large syringe.

On warm summer days, we would go for a walk in the garden, and the long grass, the intoxicating scent of roses in full bloom, the singing/chirping birds, the feeling of being free and well, and with me by his side, was all he could wish for in his “pursuit of happiness.”

“Summertime” by George Gershwin (courtesy of 57francesca):

 

On the rare occasion, when I had to go out for a very short time, I would wrap Gaby in my nightdress. It would prevent him from worrying where I was and waiting for me by the front door. When I had to go somewhere for a longer time and travel by car, Gaby would come with me, comfortable in a basket lined up with a folded soft blanket, that was held on my lap. On one occasion, I attended a wedding at the college in Oxford, and checking the apartment I was staying in for a night, became Gaby’s great adventure. The same was true every time we went to visit, friends’ living rooms were open for an exciting adventure of smelling and discovering new things.

Looking back, that particular year could be regarded as one of the darkest periods of my life. Gaby almost died, and not once but twice. It started when I noticed at mealtimes that he had some difficulty in swallowing. I had ground up his food thoroughly, thinking that would help, but during one meal he started choking and suddenly he was gone. In an instant and to my horror, his body became floppy, his arms and legs hung loosely, his senseless eyes rolled upwards and his tongue become swollen and blue. There was no time to go anywhere for help, and so I thumped him a few times between the shoulder blades, automatically adjusting the strength of my hand movements. While my hands calmly performed the required routine, I screamed hysterically at him to come back. The combination of the treatment and the racket I was making worked because within a minute or two, he was back. As his breathing was strained, I rushed him to our vet who was based some 14 miles away. Gaby was X-rayed and then put into an oxygen tank to help his breathing. While I sat rigid in the waiting room for some four hours, that evening he had his back teeth removed since the vet suspected that was the reason for his choking incident.

Die tote Stadt, Act I: Marietta’s Lied by Erich Wolfgang Korngold, performed by Nicola Benedetti and the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra:

 

Two days later, when the soreness of his mouth had subsided, Gaby was back to his old self . He ran around, played with me and ate well. My relief was overwhelming. A week later, Gaby got up one morning lethargic and grizzly. His nose was running with something I hadn’t seen before, a sticky, rubbery discharge. As he wouldn’t settle, refused his breakfast and insisted on being carried around, I took him to my study where I work every day. At midday the telephone rang and I put Gaby on the sofa amongst the folds of his blanket. After a minute, as I bent to pick him up, he gave a strangled choke, a colourless substance emitting from his mouth, and once again he was gone. Only this time he wasn’t fighting for his breath, but stopped breathing altogether. I grabbed the weightless, horribly floppy body, with arms and legs dangling outwards. His blue tongue protruded from his half-open mouth, and his glazed eyes already turning into his skull. Luckily, once again my instinct took over my panic, and hurriedly I spread-eagled Gaby on top of my desk. Holding his mouth, I gave him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, blowing air into his lungs. I then pressed gently five times his breastbone and massaged his heart. I repeated the procedure over and over again for the next few minutes, and by then my tears were dripping on Gaby’s face too. A combination of air in his lungs, stimulating the heart and my crying and in between pleading for him to come back must worked as suddenly his bright blueberry eyes focused on my face and he started breathing. I was beyond myself with joy and happiness! I could see some movement back in his legs, and although he was still spread flat out, within a minute or two he was at last looking alertly into my tear-smeared face.

Without even dressing properly (I couldn’t let go of Gaby), we dashed to the hospital by taxi. By now the mysterious infection, which he had caught from some other animal or equipment used during his stay in hospital, acquired the manic proportions of the Phantom of the Opera mask, half covering his face and closing one of his nostrils, but at least he was alive. The vet seemed as perplexed as I was. I was given antibiotics to be injected daily and a bottle of antibacterial solution. The first seven nights of Gaby’s illness I had to spend on the floor of his bedroom holding his feverish and immobile body in a comfortable position. He had to be given water via syringe at regular intervals to avoid dehydration, and although so weak that he was unable to move, he couldn’t sleep. The rubber mask that was covering half of his face had to be bathed regularly with antibacterial solution as was the rest of his body, to prevent the spread of infection. Every morning we would move downstairs and settle in a big, roomy armchair, which I had lined with a quilt for comfort and warmth. Firstly though, on my desk Gaby had to have his daily injection of antibiotics since he couldn’t eat or even hold down anything except water.

Luckily for Gaby and for my own sensibilities, I am a dab hand with a needle, thanks to expert tuition from my father, a surgeon. Whether dear Pa could ever have foreseen that I would use this skill to give injections to a hedgehog remains unclear, but I often offer him my silent thanks all the same. After the cleaning session, I would settle into the armchair with Gaby firmly wrapped up in my arms and into a fitful 10 to 20 minutes of sleep. As Gaby couldn’t move, I had to massage his tummy very lightly to help him expel whatever it was possible to get rid off. In between cleaning and sleeping, I would talk to him in the same way as one talks to unconscious patients, urging him to fight and telling him over and over how much he was loved and needed. I cried a lot too because poor Gaby looked so ill that even my 150 percent positive attitude was, in the worst moments, momentarily shaken.

“The Seal Lullaby” by Eric Whitacre, performed by VOCES8 and Christopher Glynn:

After one week of the treatment, Gaby was able to go to sleep properly and I could have my two-hour nap too. I could now see a slight improvement in the state of his face. By the end of the third week, I gently managed to peel off the hateful rubbery mask.  At that point I was feeding Gaby with the help of a syringe filled with kitten food, which had to be pulverized in a small electric mixer, otherwise it would not flow easily through the nozzle. To finally arrive at the right technique took some time. The pictures and the walls in the feeding room had strange but fetching brown splodges all over on account of the more-often-than-not blocked syringe suddenly exploding when pressed too hard in sheer frustration. Six weeks on and most problems were solved. Gaby fully recovered, ran and played happily, talked his head off, his eyes bright  once again like two blueberries after the rain.

The next few months were as if nothing happened, yet there were signs that this episode affected him. He was sleeping more, eating but mostly with the help of the syringe.  And then one night his breath became louder and labouring   I sat on the floor holding him and telling him that in the morning we would rush to the vet, and he must hold on!  I could sense that he was in pain and would place him frequently on the big pillow by my side to help him rest.  At dawn, I got up to go to the bathroom,  after telling Gaby, I would be back in a minute.  When I returned, Gaby had slid from the pillow into the place I had been sitting all night and was sitting upright, looking straight ahead with unseeing eyes, dead.

“Requiem, K. 626: Lacrimosa” by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, performed by Academy of Ancient Music and Choir of King’s College, Cambridge:

 

We say that you can die of a broken heart, and I wished that I could because the pain and grief that hit me was something I had never experienced before. Grief is the price we pay for love, and it is a heavy price to pay. I cried every night for a very long time, and although I help any animal in need, the understanding and the bond I had with Gaby was a once-in-a-lifetime unique happening to be remembered forever.  It isn’t important whether you are blood-related – the one that holds your hand when you need help is your true friend; Gaby held my hand and slept in my bed when the dog I saved died unexpectedly.

Gaby’s legacy was to inspire my nature blog, and he lives on as long as I publish posts about the importance of nature!

For those interested, here is an in-depth article about animal consciousness:

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cv223z15mpmo