A man Spent £5,000 To save The Life Of His Dog Is Worth It?

  He’s just a dog. And I don’t even like dogs. Well, didn’t to be precise. Didn’t see the point of them at all, until, in a moment of weakness, a 12-year-old daughter with a very persuasive, pleading face managed (again) to get her way.

So we bought Toffee. And my daughter Clara was indeed beside herself with joy as she promised she would be. My wife Sarah and I were back to looking after a small vulnerable thing, long after we thought those days were over.

But it was fine. Toffee was a very sweet, fluffy labradoodle who seemed as delighted with us as we are with him. And hey, if you’ve had twins, a puppy is really no sweat. Also, he seemed to like me!

Justin Webb works unusual hours as a host on Radio 4's Today Programme. He is often around during the day meaning he has bonded with toffee the labradoodle - a dog he initially did not even want to adopt

The radio host admits he didn’t even see the point of pets at all, until, in a moment of weakness, his 12-year-old daughter Clare, with a very persuasive, pleading face, managed to get her way and convince him to get a dog

Working the unusual hours I do as a presenter on Radio 4’s Today programme, when I get up at four in the morning, means I am often around during the day. Toffee has quickly decided that he and I are a team; and so we are, listening to the radio, going for walks, even sitting down together to watch Prime Minister’s Questions every Wednesday on the TVSo when Toffee seemed suddenly out of sorts recently I confess I was as worried as anyone in the family.

I took him to the vet and fretted about the initial lack of diagnosis and hoped for the best. And when the vet finally told us how ill he was, I admit I was as upset - perhaps more upset - than my children.

The radio host admits he didn’t even see the point of pets at all, until, in a moment of weakness, his 12-year-old daughter Clare, with a very persuasive, pleading face, managed to get her way and convince him to get a dog

Poor Toffee had been sick and unhappy because he had one of my socks in his tummy. And worse: the sock had shredded and was now clogging up his insides. There would have to be an operation. Perhaps several. And no one seemed very confident of success.

While the vet was telling me this, and Toffee was lying prone on the floor, I found myself half listening and half imagining looking from the outside on this scene that you could only describe as a deeply ‘First World’ problem.

Of course I was upset. But there was a part of me thinking: ‘Seriously? What is the life of a pet really worth? How much effort, how much money?’Toffee had eaten one of Justin's socks, and worse, the sock had shredded and was now clogging up his insides. There would have to be an operation. Perhaps several. And no one seemed very confident of success

Should we not be saying: ‘That’s sad for us, and for him, but in the great scheme of things dogs eat things they should not eat and die. It’s what happens.’

But this was no time for ethical pondering. If Toffee was going to be saved, we needed to take urgent action. In a whirlwind of confusion and sadness we agreed to Toffee having an operation at a South London vet’s - but the operation, which lasted for hours, was not enough.

   

       An ambulance must be called. He must make a journey across London. At the surgery door we say goodbye. In the gathering darkness at the end of a miserable day, Toffee is laid down in the back of the dog ambulance (which I think we might reasonably describe as a van with a rug in it, but we aren’t complaining) - he is on a drip and has a hot-water bottle to keep warm.We all touch his ears and whisper to him and he whimpers and then they close the doors - and that is the moment I genuinely believe we will never see him again. We have failed at dog ownership.

But we reckon without the skills of the surgeons at the Queen Mother Hospital for Animals in Potters Bar. Here, he has another operation, and days of one-to-one care.

The effort they make to save our little pet is simply immense. They call twice a day with updates, and they invite us to visit any time we like. It’s a 24-hour operation, seven days a week. Yes, weekends, too: Health Secretary Jeremy Hunt would be impressed.And here is something you can do at the Queen Mother hospital that you might not get away with on a busy NHS ward.

They found us a room (I am not making this up) for Clara to bring her cello and play Toffee his favourite music: the theme from the Pink Panther. If you have a dog that likes music - they howl delightedly at the high notes - you will know what I mean when I say that it seemed the right thing to do.

During his illness Justin contemplated what level of sacrifice is right and proportionate when a pet is unwell

And Toffee did indeed howl in hospital. And wagged his tail, jangling all the post-operative sumps and catheters attached to his little furry body.

But as I watched Clara play to him, I did wonder a bit more about the good sense, the morality of the saving of Toffee. The final bill will be more than £5,000. So how much money is the right amount to be willing to spend on a dog?

Yes, he is a much-loved member of the family, but no, his right to life is not equal to ours. I have a son, Sam, with a chronic illness - type 1 diabetes - and some of our spare cash is needed to help him cope with the extra kit that money can buy and the NHS will not provide.

Should we forego a holiday to pay for Toffee’s care? A difficult one. What level of sacrifice is right and proportionate and, well, decent? In our case, these choices - financial and ethical - are made easier by the pet insurance that we possess.

And, in Toffee’s case, it was the pet insurance that saved him. Although I probably could have afforded to keep him alive with my own cash, I am pretty sure I would not have.

We have other priorities as a family and rightly so. But with pet insurance - costing £30 a month for now - the calculations are altered.It reminded me of health care in the U.S., where I used to live: a discreet discussion right at the start and whoosh! If you have the cash, or access to the cash, hospital doors open, and white coats rustle with purpose.

I am glad we had the insurance. But as with medicine for humans in the U.S., there are risks attached to this relatively easy money.

The most obvious is that the more money there is for vets to spend, the more they will spend. A couple of years ago the insurance provider Sainsbury’s Bank claimed vets’ fees were escalating at 12 per cent at a time when general inflation was essentially zero.

The vets retorted that they were doing better work with better medicines and more experimental techniques. The popular Supervet series on TV has shown a chihuahua having a hip implant and even a cat called Oscar fitted with bionic back paws at a cost of £50,000.

 Truly, playing the cello to a dog in an animal hospital is the tip of the iceberg

The Association of British Insurers says the average pet insurance claim now costs more than £600 and insurers are paying out nearly a £1.5 million every day for pets. Years ago, things would have been different: Toffee would have got better without surgery or died.

Nowadays we are presented with options and we persuade ourselves that ‘it is only right’ to do what we can to make our lives, and those of our pets, more comfortable.

Truly, playing the cello to a dog in an animal hospital is the tip of the iceberg. And yet we humans are, like dogs, creatures of attachment. My family’s affection for Toffee is part of who we are.

If you have a pet, you will know what I mean. And if, like me, you have rushed to hospital with a child and been given a life-changing diagnosis - we were told of Sam’s diabetes in this way in 2008 when his pancreas packed up - then you, too, can tell the difference between a calamity and more minor disaster such as Toffee and the sock.Yet you know that both hurt. Pets are not worthless. It’s just that working out what they are worth is fraught with difficulty and skewed by the commercial interests of powerful companies.

He was clearly delighted, and though he has nothing against Potters Bar, he sensibly prefers South London.

We watched him wandering around the house on his first evening back and all thoughts of the ethics of dog resuscitation were very much for another day. Toffee was here again and that was all that mattered.

Toffee has just arrived home, a little thinner and wearing an ungainly plastic device - the ‘cone of shame’ - round his head to stop him gnawing at his operation scars