'You have to help me. My dog has cut his foot.'

I blinked, groaned, checked the time and shook my head, partly in amazement but also to help me wake up. It has never ceased to astonish me the hours of the day and night that dogs get injured. I guess it is a function of our twenty-four hour society.

People stop and start work at all hours, so dogs are sometimes walked at two in the morning.

And that's how I came to be taking yet another middle of the night emergency phone call. I sat up in bed, cupped the phone to my ear to try and mitigate the noise for my sleeping wife and asked quietly and simply, ‘Is the cut bleeding badly?’ ‘It’s hard to tell.’ I tried again. ’Is there red, runny stuff everywhere?’ ‘I don’t think so.’ I sighed. I certainly had a live one here. 'Do you think it needs to be stitched?' 'I don't know.' 'How big is it?' I didn't expect the answer. 'He's about 30kg and I guess about a foot and a half at the shoulder.'

Fighting the rising irritation and suppressing the mounting frustration inwardly, I attempted a different approach, adding clarity to my questioning. 'How big is the cut?' A pause. Another answer. 'Quite big.' Another deep breath. Another try. 'How long is the cut?' Another pause, obviously to allow for close inspection of the wound and a more detailed answer. 'Quite long.'

Trying desperately to work out if the dog actually needed to be seen as an emergency was getting me nowhere, so I gave up.

I slid my feet out of the bed and said, 'I'll see you at the surgery in fifteen minutes.’ At that time in my life, when being on call meant you were disturbed every second night, the rest of the process was almost automatic.

You knew the minimum time involved in such a call out was around the hour mark. You rarely achieved that. Appropriate clothing was readily accessible and could be put on without turning the light on. The car keys were in a particular place. The vehicle was always fully fuelled. The route in was well travelled. I could have opened the premises with my eyes shut.

But then you had to open them to look at the patient. This time, not for the first time, there was nothing. Barely a scratch on his pad. It was one of the most insignificant injuries I had ever seen. But, like me, the owner was tired and judgement can therefore be impaired.

Now fast forward to today.

'My dog has cut his foot.' 'Do you think it needs to be stitched?' 'I don't know.' 'Do you have a mobile phone?' 'Yes.' 'Here is my number. FaceTime me.' 'Yes we are connected. Let’s have a look at his foot. (Nice sofa, by the way but I don’t care for your wallpaper.) Ah yes. That's fine. It's just a scratch and definitely does not need to be stitched. His nails are too long. Why not bring him in sometime and we can get those clipped. Goodbye'

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz