Noelnadesan's Blog

We have all heard stories of people becoming addicted to mind-altering substances—both legal and illegal—and, in tragic cases, dying from overdoses involving drugs or alcohol. In a city like Melbourne, such stories are not uncommon; almost everyone seems to know a friend, relative, or acquaintance whose life has been affected by drugs.

Drug addiction is every parent’s nightmare. Governments, too, continue to grapple with a difficult question: should drug use primarily be treated as a crime, or as a public health problem?

But have you ever heard of an animal becoming intoxicated and losing its senses?

The veterinary hospital where I worked early in my career in Australia was in central Melbourne. It opened at nine in the morning and closed at midnight.

One night, my nurse, Stefani, and I were finishing the evening shift. After a long day, we were relieved to pack our bags and head home. I still had an hour’s drive to reach my home on the outskirts of the city.

We had locked the doors and were just about to leave when the doorbell rang.

Neither of us was pleased.

Still, I signalled to Stefani to open the door.

Outside stood a young man in his early twenties, dressed casually in sports clothes and sheepskin slippers. He held a male red heeler in his arms. The dog was obviously heavy, and the strain showed on the young man’s face. More noticeable, however, was his panic.

Seeing his distress, Stefani let him in.

The young man carried the dog into the hospital as though it were deeply asleep. I guided them into the examination room and began my assessment.

Listening with my stethoscope, I found the dog’s heartbeat unusually slow for a healthy animal. His pupils were dilated, although his eyes remained clear under the bright examination light. As I poked, prodded and examined him on the table, he hardly reacted.

A normal dog would have objected to at least some of my interference. This fellow seemed completely indifferent to me and to everything around him. He appeared profoundly relaxed, almost as if asleep. However, there was one less dignified symptom: urine was leaking from him, but respiration and heart signs were strong.

Watching the dog reminded me of my school days, when we occasionally sneaked out to late-night cinema shows and then struggled to stay awake during English lessons the following morning. We dozed off too—but at least we didn’t leak urine.

I was puzzled.

Had the dog been poisoned? Or drugged?

I cautiously asked the young man whether the dog could have had access to any medications, particularly sleeping tablets.

“No,” he replied.

I then asked whether he had any enemies.

He looked startled and shook his head. His body stiffened slightly, and I could almost see him wondering what sort of veterinary interrogation he had walked into.

Not wanting to alarm him further, I simply explained that I suspected some form of poisoning.

It was already very late, and our clinic was not staffed overnight. The dog needed hospitalisation and close observation, so I recommended that he take him to the University of Melbourne veterinary hospital, where continuous overnight care could be provided.

The young man, who introduced himself as Robert, became even more distressed. He was reluctant to make the additional journey and asked whether there was another option.

I explained that the dog might need intravenous fluids and careful monitoring. Still, Robert was reluctant to travel farther.

Something about the case still troubled me. I was convinced that the dog had eaten or drunk something unusual.

Eventually, I suggested that Robert leave the dog with us temporarily and return home to search the house carefully for anything the animal might have eaten or drunk.

Before he left, another thought occurred to me.

I asked for his mobile number. Until then, we had only his home telephone number on our records.

“Call us as soon as you’ve checked the house,” I told him.

Half an hour passed.

No call.

By one o’clock in the morning, Stefani and I were exhausted. My patience had disappeared.

“Call him,” I told her.

About fifteen minutes later, Stefani returned with an interesting story.

Two nights earlier, they’d held a bucks’ party at Robert’s house. Many young people had come and gone throughout the evening. There had been plenty of alcohol, and marijuana had been smoked.

But not everyone wanted to smoke it. For the non-smokers, someone had baked marijuana into cookies. Apparently, some of those special cookies had been left within reach.

Rex, Robert’s dog, knew nothing about marijuana, intoxication or the law. He knew only one important thing:

They were cookies.

And so he ate them.

Robert had apparently been too embarrassed to tell us this face-to-face. Over the telephone, however, he felt comfortable enough to reveal the truth.

At last, the mystery was solved.

We placed Rex comfortably in a cage, provided water and continued to observe him. His condition was consistent with what he had consumed, and we expected him to recover as the effects wore off.

Eventually, Stefani and I closed the hospital and left.

As I walked towards my car in the early hours of the morning, I thought about Rex, young Robert and those marijuana cookies.

Veterinary medicine had taught me another lesson that night.

Humans may knowingly experiment with drugs.

Dogs simply eat the biscuits.