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Sollee recovered his dignity after the hormone episode; his fur never grew back completely, but the bald patches were small enough to be of no account, and in the summer of 1989 he was still the daft Airspring everybody loved; maybe he was just a tad more mature in his ways but he was still as eager to entertain as ever. He had just turned seven years old when he showed the first sign that something wasn't quite right.
I had just arrived home from a grocery shop and was enjoying his welcome when he suddenly yelped in pain. It made me jump, gave me a bit of shock in fact and I couldn't think what the Devil I had done to hurt him, I was only rubbing his ears and stroking along his back. I remember trying to replicate the incident. But he seemed fine. He just wanted the customary treat that a return from shopping brought.
Watching him scoff the biscuit and dig up his blanket for a nap, I drew a line through the whole business, I concluded I must have trod on his toe or pulled a wisp of hair ... something silly like that. So I forgot all about it, until a few days later when the same thing happened again, this time when Tom was stroking his back.
It was a puzzle. He looked fit and well and there was no change in his behaviour, but for him to yelp in pain twice meant there was something wrong, somewhere. It was a Saturday evening and the vet was closed until Monday but I determined to take him to the surgery as soon as it opened. In the mean time Sollee was his same irrepressible self and the next day he had energy to burn so I took him for his usual walk, only making one concession, I stayed close to home, just in case. We walked up and down the farm road that runs by the cottage and Sollee hunted mice and galumphed in his normal manner. It was only when we returned home and he relaxed indoors that I noticed his belly seemed a little tucked up, his back slightly hunched, and he seemed unusually tired, stretching himself by the fire.
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There was a new vet at the practice when I took Sollee in that Monday morning; the one who had dealt with his hormone problem had retired and this new woman didn't really fill me with confidence. I had formed the opinion that my dog had a problem with his back but after listening to my description of his symptoms, and giving him a brief examination, she said that, in her opinion, he had a mild stomach ache and was probably constipated and needed a laxative. I told her of the generous 'deposits' Sollee regularly made, including the one he had left on the back lawn ten minutes before we left home. She didn't really seem to take much heed, but instead of laxatives she prescribed mild pain relief.
We left, Sollee glad to get away from the prodding and poking and me feeling less than satisfied ... but, hey, she was the vet.
Sollee finished the pain relief but the symptoms persisted, the hunched look, the occasional yelp when stroked. I took him back and her verdict was the same. I asked to see another vet for a second opinion and made an appointment for that same evening to see one of the partners in the practice.
