Andrew Miller: What doesn’t kill your dog or grandkid may not make you stronger, but it might spark gratitude

Bad things can happen to anyone, but it feels particularly egregious when misfortune affects the innocent, the well-meaning and the self-deprecating. The decent people who look out for others — you know who I mean. My friend Damien is one such good egg, just hoping to enjoy his summer break. Yet there he was last week, teetering on the edge of a metaphorical abyss, cradling his large, limp and profusely bleeding golden retriever in his arms. His blood-soaked t-shirt was serving as a makeshift bandage. The only people within earshot ignored his cries for help as they scuttled up the postcard beach. He would have given his kingdom for a mobile phone on that sandbar. The dog is fine now — I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that, because I’m not a monster — but at this point, from Damien’s perspective, the outcome of his dawn stroll was looking pretty bleak. Widely regarded as kind and thoughtful, Damien is one of those big men who treads gently on the earth. Unlike me, his misfortune would not generate schadenfreude. I am built to challenge, disrupt and provoke — so naturally there are those who don’t mind hearing stories of my wheels being stolen, flights being cancelled, or toast landing jam-side down. Karma and I are justifiably acquainted. Remember Ferris Bueller’s best friend Cameron, whose hallmarks were innocence and frustration? Ferris talked him into borrowing his dad’s Ferrari for that infamous joyride. Since we were fifteen, Damien has been the upright, loveable Cameron to my irritating, entitled Ferris. We benefit from each other’s perspective, but only he will get voted into heaven. Anyway, there he was, holding one mortally wounded dog, when he saw his other retriever splashing about the tidal pool, tangling with the same stingray that had speared the brother. It was a busy morning for the Dasyatis. No situation is ever so bad that it cannot get worse. Damien laid the injured animal down on the sandbar, separated his other dog from the beleaguered ray — without getting stung himself — and started forging his way across the channel toward the beach. As he waded, lugging one 46kg bleeding dog, the other was lunging and scratching at him. Anyone who has tried to swim alongside a retriever or Labrador will understand. Another early morning walker appeared and called Damien’s wife and an emergency veterinarian in short order. Good people gathered. After a too-long, silent drive and a tense wait during surgery, the injured dog was declared safe. Damien, on the other hand, needed some serious relaxation and a beer or three. The next day they found the tip of a stingray barb lodged in the thick neck fur of the other goldy. The arrival of family with grandchildren is always a good summer distraction, but Damien remained understandably queasy as they played in the shallows. Like all good engineers he is well-versed in statistics, so he tried not to over-cook the safety instructions. Perhaps there was a sense though that the universe had not finished with him yet, so he was not wildly surprised when the toddler ran up holding a small octopus with iridescent blue rings. This almost unbelievable turn of events ushered in slow-motion amazement rather than panic. The kid recovered too, but not without a tight limb bandage, an exciting ambulance ride to the local hospital and the Royal Flying Doctor Service on standby. Blue-ringed octopuses have saliva laced with tetrodotoxin — a paralysing poison made by bacteria, that is also found in puffer fish. Like many neurologically active chemicals, TTX has some therapeutic applications in tiny doses, but it can also stop your breathing. What doesn’t kill your dog — or grandchild — probably won’t make you stronger, but it might provoke gratitude. Happier New Year Damien, from all of us who can empathise with the frustrations of a good man, and who are very grateful it wasn’t us being tested — this time.