Paw-some True-life
When I rescued a threelegged dog, I had no idea how far he’d go to repay the favour...
Karen Ethier, 58, from Tetbury
Hearing the rattle of food, the dogs started jumping up at the kennels.
‘Alright, I’m coming,’ I laughed, putting bowls down in front of them.
As they got stuck into their dinner, I smiled.
I was the welfare manager at Bath Cats and Dogs Home, and caring for animals really was my passion.
I’d even adopted a few from the rescue centre myself!
I wished I could take them all home, but I was content with showing them as much love and care as I could.
Some of them had had rough starts in life, and I made it my mission to treat them with kindness.
As I finished off my morning rounds back in January 2016, the phone rang.
‘We’re on our way in now with a dog,’ the dog warden told me. ‘Someone called us after seeing him being hit with an iron bar.’
My heart broke.
I didn’t understand how anyone could be so cruel.
It made my blood boil, but it always reminded me why my job was so important.
As I heard the van pull up outside, I went to go and greet them.
‘He’s not in a good way,’ the warden cautioned, opening the crate – inside, right in the corner, was a trembling, emaciated, scared dog, covered in cuts and bruises.
His leg was broken in several places and was practically hanging off. They were some of the worst injuries I’d ever seen.
‘You poor thing,’ I whispered, crouching down to his level.
The pup let out a little growl – he was clearly terrified.
‘You’re safe now,’ I told him – as soon as I looked into his big brown eyes, I felt an instant connection with him.
Louie and I developed a special bond
Clearing everyone else out of the way, I just sat by the open van, giving him treats and trying to show him I was his friend.
And when we were finally able to get him out safely, we whisked him straight to the vet so they could assess his horrific injuries.
All I could do was wait by the phone until we finally got a call. ‘How is he?’ I asked nervously. The vet said she had never seen so many breaks in one leg.
‘We had no choice but to amputate,’ she explained over the phone.
It was heartbreaking to hear. He returned back to the rescue centre, and we decided to give him a name.
‘I think he looks like a Louie,’ I suggested, giving him a scratch on the head.
I spent a lot of time with Louie, and eventually, as his cuts and bruises started to heal, he began to let down his defences and trust me.
Despite the tough start, Louie was a fighter. Very quickly we developed a special bond.
‘You’re coming home with me,’ I told him, giving him a scratch behind the ears.
