but then again, they do get better eventually. Not only all good things, all bad things come to an end. It’s been that kind of a week. Up and down.
George rang to say that Millie’s biopsy lab results had come in. Would I like to come and discuss them with her. (George is a girl vet, real name Georgina; I don’t think she can remember far enough back to when she was last called that.) Well, she said. why do things the easy way when complicated is an option. Talk about unusual, she said; personally, I’ve never come across another dog with the same symptoms.
“This sample shows an extensive area of ulceration and superficial necrosis. There is a heavy cellular infiltrate dominated by granulocytes with a substantial number of eosinophils. There is haemorrhage. Lymphocytes, plasma cells and macrophages are also present. . . . .
...locally severe ulcerative dermatitis . . . . eosinophilic folliculitis and furunculosis of the face is present. . . .”
Enough already, this is Millie we are talking about, Millie, who is a sweet and gentle creature with a rare ability to stick her nose into all sorts of dungheaps and a well developed talent for scavenging, who loves everybody, animal and human and would never willingly forego the pleasure of demonstrating this love. The short diagnosis: Eosinophilic Dermatitis. No certain trigger, except possibly an allergy to arthropod bites or stings. Among even more uncertain other triggers.
The only treatment for the condition is steroids. Although steroids hinder the healing process, the holes on Millie’s face are closing up; unfortunately, along the way she decided stitches didn’t suit her; she unpicked them, and now she has a small scar on her nose which is permanent.
All that before her second birthday in our house! (She’s nine-and-a-half now and going strong). In spite of her recent trials she happily comes for walks, although on our ramble to the blackthorn hedges on the Shropshire Way to pick sloes for Beloved’s wine making she appears to find her tongue a heavy burden to carry.
Paul and I made some beautiful compost this week. He is shaping up to be a worthy successor to Gardener in that respect. I wish I could help lighten his mood, but he is a true clinical depressive and we just have to be patient and wait for his medication to kick in. I really should know that the dead-eyed monster cannot be influenced but, in spite of knowing, I still find myself chatting brightly and encouragingly. Idiot woman. There’s a large dollop of selfishness in my thinking: although I am deeply sorry for Paul, I am also desperately worried that I might have to find yet another gardener which would send me into another black hole, being one of the causally afflicted.
Even on a dull day as here in this picture, our part of the world is an earthly paradise.
It’s rotten luck that sometimes the golden fields of paradise are obscured by gloomy skies.