That’s a funny way to start a story but it’s true. It really did.

Casper is a rescue. We called him that due to his white coat. Well, what was behind it all. He’s a three legged, BullMastiff that I instantly fell in love with at the shelter. He was found at the side of the road covered in sores and matted fur.

Without any tags or collar, it was a case of putting his details up online to see if his owner would come and claim him. And I wish they had, because I had few choice words to say to them. As the day wore on, nobody did.

I took Casper home as our pound was overrun. Plus he didn’t show any signs of a distress dog despite his signs of abuse.

Normally, a rescue of any kind can show signs of discomfort, like not eating or pooping. Casper wasn’t any different. Being a large dog I was worried when he refused food, showing all the signs of constipation.

So, I added a few drops of laxative to his water and low and behold, after twenty minutes he was pushing at the door.

Casper darted out, skipping on his one front foot. That’s when I saw it. His butthole winking. Then it puckered. The red of his inside rolled out and I shot back in revolution. A white ball grew wider, rotating as Casper squeezed. Then an Iris came around, bloodshot and veiny.

Poor Capser moaned as his stomach clamped and released. His butthole closing and opening. All the while the eyeball stayed inside, peeking out at me.

I ran inside and got my vet kit and injected him with a sedative. Poor Capser.

When we took him to surgery and opened him up, we found more of his owner. Where the rest is, is anyone’s guess.