.....almost a tragedy cont.

Upon the arrival of the vet (who even to my ludicrously young eyes looked like he had not long finished his paper round) Pilgrim soon resembled a pin cushion. Painkillers, anti-spasmodics and roughly 5 other things that I cannot pronounce. Added to the fact that he weighs around 850 kilos and therefore needs a double dose of everything his innards must have been swimming in medicine (and pound signs!) However he was so far gone by this point that it became clear he wasn't responding to the recently administered 'magic juice'. The vet began to mention that maybe it would be better to put him to sleep but there was no way on this earth any of us there (the previously mentioned non-speaking liveries had arrived to stick their oar in) were going to give up so with 5 of us in total we heaved, grunted, sweated and cried him into a lion-like position. Naturally, he had his front legs crossed and couldnt get up, so he was again heaved and tugged and sweated a bit more until he made a final effort (which I am convinced would have been his last) and got up. It has since been discovered that Pilgrim actually suffers from a little known disease called wimpitis, an affliction suffered by hypochondriacs worldwide, but on this particular occasion I fully believe he had given up on life.