Pet Articles

Killing me softly
by Fiona Tankard

When we were little my sister wanted to be a 'piano lessoner', a vocation whose arcane career structure was known only to her, while I wanted to be a vet. Once I realised that vets had the power of life and death, that I might actually have to put an animal to sleep, I did a swift volte face and moved towards the arts. This inability to kill anything has persisted to this day: I rescue hornets and scorpions, give the kiss of life to sodden spiders and once even tried to Superglue a toad's leg back on when Alan accidentally strimmed it.

Living here in Italy has hardened me a little bit. Where once I would rescue anything my cats caught and try desperately to save its small and fragile life, I now let them get on with it, knowing that the animal would be better swiftly despatched than to linger on wounded, thanks to my misguided desire to save it. But I still can't kill.

A Bird in the Hand

I once found a small wounded bird and having drip fed it Rescue Remedy and done my best, it still seemed very distressed. I knew in my heart of hearts I should finish it off and so I took it into the garden and covered its head with a tea towel. I got a huge hammer and lifted it above my head, but I couldn't actually do it and stopped, in tears, mid swing. After an inner debate about whether distance lent itself more easily to killing, I decided that the further removed I was from the actual act, the more chance I had of going through with it.

I drove to a lay-by where I got out and placed the shrouded little creature under the wheels of the car. But I couldn't do that either. The last resort was to have Bruna my neighbour despatch it, as knowing her prowess at ending the days of thousands of hens, chickens, rabbits and God knows what else, a little sparrow would prove no problem. On arriving back at the house I opened the door and turned to pick the bird up only to have it fly out of the car and off to freedom as soon as it was unwrapped. I was off the hook again.

Carp and Angels

I think one of my maddest animal rescues was when the neighbours had been fishing on Lake Trasimeno and caught some carp. They brought three of the thrashing fish to our door. 'Just put them in the freezer and they'll die on their own,' said Marco, smiling. I nodded, took the three fish inside and promptly ran the bath and put them in, where they effected a remarkable recovery. There was the small problem of what t do next because, as Alan pointed out, they couldn't stay there indefinitely, as people didn't usually keep pet carp in the house.

I filled a bucket with water, covered it with a black bin liner and then tried to sneak out in a  casual 'I am taking out the rubbish' kind of way. I drove to Lake Chiusi and waded through reeds and goodness knows what else to return three very, very lucky fish to the wrong lake.

I still sort of admire people who can kill to be kind. Our Italian vet has had to put down two of our elderly pets now, quite an uncommon event here, as many animals die young, are left to it, or are despatched by their owners. Anyway, Mauro the vet is a lovely guy, although his basket-side manner leaves something to be desired. On arriving at the house to put our 17-year-old cat to sleep he announced in his best English: 'Hello it's me again. The Angel of Death.'