Crowds queue up for Irish Blue Cross clinics which help those who can't afford a vet for their pets. Eileen Battersby reports
Slowly, they gather at a Dublin roadside. Dark and freezing, January is living up to its bleak reputation. Like so many penitents, the figures stand patiently, waiting. Some hold small bundles to their chests, others carry boxes. One woman has a carton that once contained a vacuum cleaner. The wind whips across our faces. But no one leaves, no one complains. When the white van pulls into sight, slows down and parks beside the queue, a small girl cheers.
The waiting figures are not here to protest about anything. These are Dublin pet owners, delighted to have the chance to bring their dogs and cats, puppies and kittens to the Blue Cross Mobile Veterinary Clinic. All of the owners standing in the cold in Finglas last Thursday night have something in common - they love their pets, don't have much money and are aware of the importance of pet health care. Run as a charity, the Blue Cross service is a practical and fair way of helping low-income urban pet owners. The vets donate their services for free and are ably assisted by a team of 40 volunteers.
Initially it appears this is going to be a dogs' night out. Star attraction could be Spenser, a handsome brindle boxer. Now 11 months old, he is beginning to acquire presence. The vet holds no fear for him, Spenser is here for worming tablets. As is his intended, a lady boxer, Jesse. Slightly older, about 18 months old, she stands to attention as if being photographed for a fashion magazine. Thomas Doyle bought Spenser in Kildare; his brother Michael owns Jesse. "She's a bit small, but she's grand. She was the runt of the litter." The brothers are going to breed from the pair.
Light years in size removed from the boxers is Ben, a tiny Jack Russell. Owned by Mary Healy and her daughter, Chelsea, who holds the puppy in her arms, Ben is here for vaccinations. Mary has travelled over from Ballymun. "I'm delighted we can come here. I'm a single mother of two. I can't afford much but this little fellow is part of the family now, and he has to have his injections." On such a cold night, the dogs seem grateful to enter the van and are happy to see the vet on duty, Peter O'Neill, a sympathetic young man who engages with the animals and their owners. Inside the van, which looks like a miniature surgery, is a waiting room. On the wall is a notice concerning Suzi. "Please give me a good home," she pleads. She is three months old and described as "Half Labrador, Half?" There are other signs, stressing the importance of neutering dogs and spaying bitches.
Outside waits another, very different Ben. He is a beautiful black and white sheepdog with a history of coming home with a sore paw, a sore ear and most recently, a sore eye. He is accompanied by Brian Hughes, who is 17 and describes Ben as "my sister's dog". He doesn't know what happened to Ben's red, watery eye. "He acts tough, but he's really frightened." At the moment, Ben is hiding - lying low on the ground behind the legs of Brian who is sitting on the low wall. Ben's mournful expression suggests that he has a theatrical streak and will wrest as much drama as possible from his visit to the vet.
Alan Kirwin arrives with his brown pit-bull terrier, a small dog who sustains an air of moral outrage throughout his wait outside the clinic. "He's 14 weeks old and this is his final injection," says Kirwin.
What's his name? "Krypton - as in Superman."
"Oh, I thought you had said Crippen - as in the murderer."
Kirwin considers this. "Crippen - that's a good name too." Krypton is one of the litter of 13. "They used to be used for fighting, but I am going to show him."
Pensioner Leo Williams is worried about Lady, his unusually graceful little Jack Russell. She is white, with a small, dainty head. "She's not eating, only picking. She's 12 weeks old, but I've only had her for five weeks." All the while he is speaking he rubs her head. The vet assures him all is well. Lady is in good condition but obviously has a relaxed attitude to eating. Williams looks relieved.
Also helping vet O'Neill is Caroline Cooley, who has been a Blue Cross volunteer for 25 years, while Gordon Nolan, a kindly character, has been helping for 33 years but quickly refers to a fellow volunteer with 35 years to his credit. The Irish Blue Cross was founded in 1945 by a group of people determined to stop the live export of Irish horses to Europe. Blue Cross horse ambulances remain a feature of all racing and equestrian events.
By 1953 the first Irish Blue Cross mobile clinic, caring for small animals, was in operation. There are now three vans serving the 10 weekly clinics held at appointed venues from Monday to Friday, and, in theory, from 7 p.m. to 8 p.m. each evening. The vet and volunteers, however, stay until the final pet has been seen. Some nights they work until 9.30 p.m.
Is the service intended to counter the high costs of veterinary fees? "No," says Cooley, "we are not running in opposition to the vets. We get on well with them. We were here first. We are here to help the low-income pet owners and if an operation is needed, we organise referrals." Donations of between €6 and €10 are encouraged from people attending the mobile clinics with their pets.
First aid, injections, boosters, diagnosis and advice are most in demand. The vans do not have X-ray facilities. Nor can surgical procedures be carried out. "That's all done through referrals to various practices."
Long-serving volunteers such as Cooley and Nolan have seen some animals through their lives, "from the first visit as a youngster, to the end in old age and the sad final days". Even more important is the sympathy needed when a pet owner has to face the sadness of losing a beloved pet. But tonight, the emphasis is on young puppies and dogs. A young man looks in. "I just want to ask about having a dog neutered." He explains he is on social welfare. "I can't afford it."
Another small group comprises Sabrina, her boyfriend and one of their two cats, Woo, a two-year-old tabby wrapped in a blanket looking miserable. "I think she has an ear infection," says Sabrina, a Dubliner who used to live in Longford. "In the country we used to go to the ISPCA vets." O'Neill suspects pregnancy.
No emergencies, no sad tales of unwanted Christmas puppies, the only dark element evident in this session concerns Millie, a little Jack Russell/Yorkshire terrier cross who has been reunited with her owner after going missing for two weeks. "She can't walk. She's eating, but she can't walk. I think her back legs are broken." Perhaps it's her pelvis? She must be X-rayed.
Last patient of the night is Pal. Dragging his owner behind him, he's a four-year-old golden Labrador with a girth reflecting his love of chicken. "It's his ears," says his owner who has been using TCP to clean out his ears. "It's too harsh for this," says O'Neill, who goes to work with a veterinary ear-cleaning solution. "He looks to have a chronic ear problem," and adds the stock phrase familiar to many Labrador owners: "He's very overweight, that's a problem his breed don't manage very well."
The Irish Blue Cross is a registered charity. Tel: 01 -4163030; www.bluecross.ie
