Just as each of my dogs has its own biography, so it is that this little different-coloured dog has his own special story.  How is that he got the name “Vici”?  The original plan for this litter was to keep a Tervueren bitch, preferably different-coloured.  The name “Vichy” had already been chosen.  But as the saying goes, things often turn out differently than you plan, for Ornella delivered a litter of eight males on May 26, 2003—not one single female!  Now there was no way of getting a “Vichy”.  The puppies grew up and Ornella devotedly cared for them.

Everything went well up until the ninth day, when I heard a piercing cry from one of the puppies.  I ran into the whelping room and the little different-coloured pup was rolling and writhing in pain.  I noticed some blood above the right ear, as well as on the edge of the whelping box.  Ornella was extremely upset over the crying pup and I presumed she might have snapped at him.  But Ornella?  No, she would never have done that.  Or would she?  It took a while until the puppy, Ornella, and I had quieted down.  Then I saw what had happened and solved the puzzle.  For many years, actually against my better judgment, I had used strips of moulding as guard rails in the whelping box.  My supposition was that Ornella had been sleeping on her back, as she often did.  Then the little pup had probably climbed across her at the exact time when she turned over and then had gotten squeezed.  Well, the rest of the day passed and the pup was quiet.  No injury around the ear was noticeable.  But somehow he was quiet—too quiet, that is until early the next morning, when his whimpering and crying woke me up.  I thought he might have had a bad bellyache.  We consulted the vet, hoping for some relief for him.  After a shot of Buscopan, he recovered slightly, yet his condition remained serious—too serious for me to be satisfied.  No, something was the matter.  He was so quiet and didn’t dare move.  He lay apart from his mother and lively siblings, so the other pups wouldn’t crawl over him.  I had a bad feeling.

When I weighed him on Sunday evening, he hadn’t gained a single gram, but instead had lost twenty grams.  Monday and Tuesday saw no change for the better.  He was losing weight slightly.  On Tuesday evening he had reached the weight of the previous Saturday, but no more.  I feared he might starve and then slowly die.  I was afraid he may have suffered internal injuries, but the vet disagreed.  I was considering having him put to sleep.  

I am glad I listened to my better half and gave him another day to see if his condition improved.  It was if he had sensed this because on Wednesday he began to gradually recover.  There were no internal injuries and no evidence of any fractures.  Presumably his upper body had bruises and contusions and that accounted for his discomfort and pain.

Why did he end up staying with us?  I have no idea how it happened.  From the twelfth day on I had him listed, for the time being, on the puppy list as “sold”.  But somehow I must have overlooked my notation and forgot to remove it.

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